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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27198989">His Gift</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepygrimm/pseuds/sleepygrimm'>sleepygrimm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, BDSM Scene, Character Turned Into Vampire, Comfort/Angst, Dancer Natasha Romanov, F/M, Human/Vampire Relationship, Light BDSM, Natasha Romanov Feels, Oral Sex, Romance, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, Vampire Bites, Vampire Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:20:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27198989</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepygrimm/pseuds/sleepygrimm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An incident stole her future. A century-old vampire. A cure that costs nothing... but her soul.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>290</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy Quarantine Halloween Romanogers!  Have a safe one. x<br/>Comments are welcome.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Natasha Romanoff, Russia’s Prima Ballerina wowed audiences. With her ability, grace, and poise. They flocked from the far corners of the world to attend her performances. Her movements captured the essence of music. It was a testament to her passion and hard work. great technique matched with artistry. She danced to her heart. A reflection of her best that captivated each of her audience. She would receive invitations for private performances from the royal houses of Europe and beyond. Everyone had known the name Black Widow.</p>
<p>Presently, because of a driver’s lapse in concentration, her best performance amounted to a flight of stairs. That lapse of concentration had caused a major accident that involved three vehicles.It was rush hour on St.Petersburg after she finished her rehearsals on a nearby dance studio. When her driver came to an intersection they were about to cross when a car came flying by and hit the front of their vehicle.twisted it and slammed right into an SUV. It was hot of the press, Russia’s ice queen rushed by ambulance, and fought for her life.</p>
<p>Only Natasha had survived. She was lucky to have walked away from it. Her lips curved but not in amusement. Technically, she didn’t walk away. she had been cut open and spent an amount of time in intensive care. when her mentor, Nicholas Fury couldn’t keep the news from her any longer that she was shunted to counseling. Fearful, that the news of her to never walk again, let alone dance would hurt and have a negative impact.</p>
<p>Walk... what a joke; shuffle might be nearest the mark. As she stepped out of her limousine at the side of the theatre, she made a quick glance, made sure she was alone in the pavement to its corridors. By this time, everyone was already inside. She didn’t like pity. didn’t like people watch her as she made her clumsy way up the stairs of the theater who have always been home to her.</p>
<p>She had a stairlift at her apartment but damned if she acted like someone who needed assistance in public. The paparazzi took enough photos of her predicament.Her fierce independent nature won’t allow it. The same tenacity had gotten her out of the hospital bed two years ago when most people may have given up.</p>
<p>Natasha would slowly walked up the stairs of The Bolshoi Theater in her petite five-foot-five frame, wrapped in a dark green ankle-length gown with a black satin sash that hugged her curves and black heels, even if it killed her. She concentrated and clutched onto the handrails, sweat broke, and trickled down her spine as she forced her legs to obey. Lift, slide, and drag until she was on the next step. It took a while but it beat the alternative. There’s no way she would let anyone carry her; She did have some pride. Pretty much all she had these days.</p>
<p>Finally, at the top, she paused and caught her breath. Straightened her gown, adjusted the pin on her hair. Her slender fingers curled around the handrail for balance. She did not rise to <em>Prima Ballerina</em> if it weren’t for her excellent balance. <em>Why on earth are these damn places built on one level anyway? Shit! </em></p>
<p>She pushed the door to her private box and shuffled her way to her seat. A sense of triumph ballooned in her chest. She lapsed in silence as the familiar music of Swan Lake started. She sighed and sat back in her chair, gazed fixed on the movement and sway of bodies that flowed exceptionally to the music.</p>
<p>She watched the dancers with eagerness. drank in each of their steps. she noted their body lines and graceful movements. Dancing was denied to her now. a bitter twist of fate which had left a knot of pain in her heart, an empty hollow to match the rest of her broken body. Despite her injuries, her love for dance and ballet never wavered. She appreciated it even more. To be able to watch others dance, it soothed her, together with the music and ambiance of her old life.</p>
<p>Maybe in a few years, she might start teaching, she mused. drawn to the magic on stage, she became lost in the dance, and all too soon the first act draws to a close. Natasha sighed in disappointment and allowed her to gaze sideways. She checked how many people were on that night. She wandered over the packed auditorium, then up over the boxes above them.</p>
<p> The Bolshoi Theater is Moscow’s premier opera and ballet house. It is also the most respected. Its history dated back to the 17th century. Cosmetic repairs were done every year. Renovations were greatly undertaken. The walls were lined with acoustics, resonant pinewood panels, the once iron ceiling was replaced with wood. the six-tier auditorium almost accommodated 2300 people. it provides boxes with anterooms—small drawing rooms made to entertain visitors from stalls or neighboring boxes. The lettered boxes closest to the stage on both sides of the auditorium were reserved for royal families, court ministries, noblemen and women, and theater management.</p>
<p>Crimson and Gold impressed all that entered it. Renaissance mixed with Byzantine style. white light interspersed with gold, crimson draping on the interior boxes, stucco arabesque different for each floor and the main eye-catcher is the huge chandelier that consisted of three tiers of light and candelabras decorated with crystal. It was just breathtaking.  </p>
<p>Throughout the evening, Natasha avoided the adjacent box and the tall, lean man who sat half-hidden in the darkness. He was the other reason she came. The other reason why she put herself through the trauma of the mountaineering stairs.</p>
<p>Steven Grant Rogers.</p>
<p> A patron of the arts, he attracted the attention of every arts organization within a hundred-mile radius. Groups he favored didn’t hurt for money or resources and there wasn’t a ballerina out there who wouldn’t give a couple of body parts for him to notice her. There wasn’t a woman out there, ballerina or not, who didn’t sit up and took notice when Steve walked into a room.</p>
<p>Tall and lean, he had the face of an angel. his voice low and silky. the deep timbre promised hot nights between cool sheets that would send any female’s mind off on all sorts of erotic fantasies. That was in polite conversations; heaven only knew what kind of effect he would bring while he whispered something erotic in a woman’s ear.</p>
<p>A shiver ran down her spine; the thought of Steve whispering sweet nothings to her ear fluttered her stomach. She fantasized about him for years, since the first time she saw him.</p>
<p>Steve turned and his pale blue eyes focused on her with single-minded intensity. Natasha froze for a second, blindsided by the look in his eyes, a dark look that both terrified and thrilled her. She managed a smile in response and inclined her head a little before she turned away. A flush was rampant on her cheeks.</p>
<p><em> Oh god, the way he looked at her… as though he could see right into her soul.  </em> She couldn’t help the small smirk up her lips. her head was filled with erotic daydreams. She fantasised about his perfect lips pressed against hers, his lean, hard body wrapped around hers. knees between her thighs as he opened and thrust into her while he held her wrists captive above her head.</p>
<p>Her cheeks grew hotter at the image she had conjured in her mind and she turned her head and hid her blush in the darkness. Her mind started to wander back into her favorite fantasy. The two of them in a box, exploring each other everywhere with hands and lips before he pulled her onto his lap. A long tremble ran through her body as she imagined sliding down over his length taking him inch by inch. She would ride him, her hands on the front barrier of the box as the performance continued, all those unaware of the erotic goings above…</p>
<p>A twinge of pain in the back of her calf brought her the grim reality. The mind was willing but the body cannot. She had hoped to have caught his attention when she was… well, normal. <em>But what hope did she have now?</em> A man like Steve would never want a disabled woman.   </p>
<p> </p>
<p>                                                                     </p>
<p>  ------------------------------------------------------</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If he wasn't mistaken, she looked at him. thought of him and sex in the same sentence. based on the flush across her cheeks as she turned away.</p>
<p>At the next box, Steven Grant Rogers smiled to himself. He was at the luxury to study her. A visual caress on her slender figure.The soft red curls that cascade down her shoulders half pinned by a crystal spider. A surge of possessiveness rose from his chest. She was his, whether she knew it or not. She always had been. He admired her from afar. For years he had wanted. but it was also about choices. He wanted her to like him without compulsion. It must be her choice. Knowing that your lover trusted you. A power that is greater than immortality.</p>
<p>He ignored the dancers as they emerged back onto the stage. He wasn’t here for them. He knew they were ecstatic he attended their performances. Three of the senior dancers extended an invitation to their dressing rooms. In another time, another life, he might accept, but not tonight. The instant he had seen Natasha ten years ago all had changed. He saw her dance at the age of eighteen, He followed her career and been to each of her performances. From Europe to all over the world. He made sure to get invited even to private functions. He saw her grew confident, disciplined, and passionate about her craft.</p>
<p>As she turned her head, the move set her earrings to dance and the light is thrown up from the stage, it highlighted the slender curve of her neck. His fangs dropped ready into his mouth. A mouth that watered at the thought of sinking it through her creamy skin while he drank and thrust into her.</p>
<p>
  <em> Well done Steve, try getting rid of that sometime this century. </em>
</p>
<p>He waited until she lifts her gaze from the stage and remembered the rest of the world that awaits. He had seen it from accident victims before. Shock forced the mind to withdraw until it can cope with what had happened. She hadn’t looked away from the stage, her beautiful green eyes locked on to the dancers. the longing on her face would have broken any lesser man.</p>
<p>For more than two years, since her accident, it had broken Steve, especially when he knew he could make it right. With one small bite, A cure,  he could erase all her pain, set the clock back, and let her dance again. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t. She wasn’t ready then. Until tonight.</p>
<p>Natasha never looked up at her surroundings before and scanned the crowds. She kept in her isolated box like a princess in the tower, a princess that waited for a noble prince.</p>
<p>Steve smiled. He had been called many things but what he was about to do was far from noble. He would rescue her, Alright, but then he would carry her off and lock her up in his bed-chamber. An angelic prince with a devil's passion that would soon claim his bride. Yes, he liked that. He stood up from his chair, his movement predatory before he checked himself. He had always wanted Natasha. Time to put his plan into action.</p>
<p>It didn’t take him long to reach the adjacent box, the shortest corridor probably was the longest he had taken. He paused as he reached the door, his pale hand rested on the doorknob. closed his eyes and breathed in her aura, her scent. His pale blue eyes snapped open, and read the nameplate on the door. <em>Romanoff.  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Steve took deep breathes and tried to calm his nerves. <em>Nerves? Breathe? Since when had he been any of this?</em> He was a century-old vampire, a creature at the top of the food chain with no natural enemies. </p>
<p>But regardless, his stomach or what he thought he might feel he had, was like a pit of snakes had just taken residence in. He grimaced and pushed the door open. It took less than a second for his vision to adjust into the darkness. He kept his head turned a fraction., so the lights from the stage did not hit him full in the face. A gesture most people would have taken to mean the lights had blinded him for a second. But they were dead wrong.</p>
<p>He was a nocturnal predator. Like most creatures who hunted in the night, His eyes were reflective. His eyes lit up like a freaking cat that was caught in front of a car on a highway. The last thing he wanted, was Natasha running screaming from him. </p>
<p>Steve schooled his features. Adjusted his black tie and monogramed cufflinks. Smoothed his blonde hair and stepped farther into the box as he spoke. “Good evening, Miss Romanoff. I hope you don't mind my intrusion. May I come in?”</p>
<p>Inside the gold gilded box were at least five red velvet seats. Just enough to accommodate for a private viewing. </p>
<p>“Of course, Mr. Rogers, please do,” Natasha said. Her voice was calm and collected as she motioned him inside and asked him to join her. She indicated the empty chair to her left. </p>
<p>He smiled, as he sat down with lethal grace in every line of his body. “Thank you. Did you enjoy the ballet this evening?”</p>
<p>Natasha had captured his attention from the moment Steve had first seen her years ago. To be this close to her, within touching distance of her delicate and fragrant olive skin, was intoxicating. Her deep red hair and emerald eyes had led him to wayward thoughts. </p>
<p>“So, what brings you here to chat with me, Mr. Rogers?” She eyed him with interest. <em>Oh lord, he is more handsome up close. </em></p>
<p>She tried not to stare as the sharp, angular lines of his shadowed face drew her attention.</p>
<p>He had always sent her flowers when she performed the same as he did with the primary dancers. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He also sent flowers after the accident, but those had been different. Somehow, he found out what her favorite was. Since then, his bouquets have changed. Instead of white roses, he started sending freesias, always had. They had been her mother's favorite. And now, hers. </p>
<p>“I would like to thank you for all the flowers you’ve sent, I would have written you a note but… I wasn’t myself at the time.” She whispered.</p>
<p>“It is forgotten,” He said and waved a hand in elegant dismissal. He had an indolent manner that fascinated Natasha. If she did not know any better, she might suspect him of being a dancer himself. </p>
<p>He smiled, the one blue eye she could see warm with amusement. “Of course, I deserve the right to forfeit at a later date.”</p>
<p>Natasha chuckled and felt the familiar heat on her cheeks again. She tended to blush. Her coloring was so fair, her skin almost translucent., that a blush made her look like a human beetroot. At least, it was too dark for him to see her. </p>
<p>“It was about time I introduce myself to the vision of loveliness who keeps bringing me back here each month.” He smiled.</p>
<p>When he trailed off and looked from the stage and her expectantly. A slight hope that had built-in her chest fell flat. </p>
<p>“Oh.” she wondered.</p>
<p>She tried to keep her face blank as she thought which dancer had caught his eye. She knew most of them, so she could easily arrange an introduction. <em>But why would he need her help?</em> </p>
<p><em>All he had to do was walk backstage, with his identity and his heart-stopping good looks would</em> <em>do the rest</em>. <em>He would only have to crook his finger, and he could have any female or male dancer he wanted. </em>She bit her lip, and waited for him to name someone. </p>
<p>“Tonight, she smiled at me, drew me to her side, and I hope, to lay claim to the young woman's   heart.”</p>
<p>Natasha chewed her bottom lip, she lost track of the conversation itself.  When she realized, He intently studied her face. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>All of a sudden, A blonde with an elfin feature, tall and slender, barged into her private box, unannounced. She shot Steve a glance, flipped her long hair back over her shoulders, and spoke to Natasha. “Natalia, the car has arrived for us.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Rogers, I want to introduce to you, Sharon Carter. She is one of the primary dancers here at Bolshoi,” Natasha said. </p>
<p>“Mr. Rogers, It is a pleasure to meet you.” Sharon turned a bright smile on Steve as she leaned forward, displayed an ample cleavage, placed her toes a little further that showed her leg from her high slit red sequined gown, and offered her hand. </p>
<p>Steve spared her a glance and smiled. He knew her type—nothing more that appealed to him. Maybe, as a way to take the edge off his darker needs within ten minutes or so. He turned back to Natasha.  </p>
<p>Sharon flushed scarlet and felt humiliated. Her voice was sharp as she repeated her request. “Natalia, we should go, I have strict orders from Monsieur Fury to see that you get home.”</p>
<p>“Sharon, please tell Jarvis, I am on my way and wait for me at the back of the theater.” </p>
<p>“Natalia…”</p>
<p>“Please, Sharon,” Natasha spoke softly, but it was an order. </p>
<p>Sharon huffed. “bloody perverts,” she muttered, flicked her hair, and flounced out. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Natasha sighed.</p>
<p>“Hear what?” Steve asked. He turned a blinding smile on her as he shifted closer and closed in for the kill.</p>
<p>Natasha felt her traitorous body relaxed. Like, a flower turned toward the sun. His arm wrapped around across the back of her seat. She shivered. </p>
<p>“Your little friend… I don’t think she likes me.” he winked. “But then, either one loves me or loathe me.”</p>
<p>Natasha gaped at him. <em>Had he described himself as a marmite?</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Steve cursed under his breath, <em>Damn it!</em> She started to fell under his sway. He reigned in his abilities, just as her eyes began to glaze over. As a born predator, when he saw something he wanted, those instincts took over. His voice grew silky, beguiling, and eyes hypnotizing. It would not take long for her, to be his, for the taking.</p>
<p>His instincts demanded to take her. Lay claim to her.</p>
<p><em>No</em>. He wanted Natasha, but not because his abilities had enchanted her. Male vampires were naturally dominant. He could snap his fingers and she would fall at his feet. </p>
<p>His lust shrouded brain offered up an image—Natasha on her knees in front of him, her eyes dark, as her small hands crept over his thighs, up toward his belt buckle. Heat and need hit him like a whirlwind. But Steve fought the temptation down. He closed his eyes, broke the connection he unwittingly forged.</p>
<p>That was not what he wanted. <em>Well, he wanted Natasha naked in his arms, naked under him</em>. <em>Spread-eagled over his bed and have his wicked ways with her</em>. But only, if she wanted to be there. It was now about choices. </p>
<p>That was the ecstasy he wanted from Natasha. To be able to be with him of her own free will. </p>
<p>If he took away her choices and used his abilities to get what he wanted, then he did not have Natasha. He had a fuck toy, that <em>looked</em> like Natasha.</p>
<p>He had done that in the past with other women. all too often, and it just did not work. Without the spark of free will, sex became routine. He did not just want sex with Natasha. He wanted her all. Body, heart, and soul. </p>
<p>He sat back and gazed at the beautiful woman that sat next to her. He reached out and took her hand, laced her warm fingers with his. </p>
<p>“How are you doing now, Natasha?” he asked. “Since the accident, I mean.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His words ripped Natasha out of her sensual daze and slammed her back into reality harder than a dancer that hit the floor due to imbalance. Her foolishness. <em>that a handsome guy that neared, enough for you to smell his aftershave, you act like a star-struck teenager. </em></p>
<p>"I knew this was all too good to be true.” Her voice was sharp with disappointment as she rose to her feet. She wobbled a little; as she tore her fingers from him. He was just like all the rest, only interested in details about the accident. <em>What was it with these people? Did she have to parade around naked, show every scar, all the damage that brought by being inside a car as it rolled six times? What could it inflict? Would they be happy then and leave her alone?</em></p>
<p>She turned away, intended to storm out of the box, but he stepped around her and blocked her path. He loomed over her, Steve was a foot taller and exuded strength. His expression was intense, it should have frightened her – a man or any other man that looked at her that way, would scare her to death. But on the contrary, the look on Steve's face did not frighten her; It thrilled her right down to her toes. </p>
<p>He moved fast.  Snaked an arm around Natasha's waist, hauled her up against him, held her captive against his lean, hard body. With no chance to struggle, but she did not even plan to. Her lips parted, just like the softest of moans escaped. As soon as he had touched her, it was as though, a switch had been flicked inside of her. </p>
<p>“I can assure you, if you paraded around me naked, I will not be able to leave you alone. I will not be able to keep my hands off you,” Steve murmured. His voice was a liquid temptation by her ear, as warm breath fanned over her neck and stirred the loose red curls that fallen like an elegant pleat. </p>
<p>Heat blossomed in the pit of her belly. Natasha sighed as her body clenched with need.</p>
<p>
  <em>Hell, if he can do that with just his voice, what would it be like if he kissed me? </em>
</p>
<p>Steve chuckled, the sound soft and dulcet in the darkness. “Why don't we find out?"</p>
<p>His hand slid into her hair, as strong fingers massaged the delicate bones of her neck as he bent his head to press his lips to hers. Warm and firm, they molded with hers, brushed with softness, as he explored. She gasped as her lips made a tingle, at the sensation that spread all through her whole body. He took advantage of her gasp, gathered her closer as he deepened the kiss, and took them both into the dark tumult of desire that awaited them. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>comments are welcome. x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“I think, this is not such a good idea. I mean, what if Mr. Rogers is a lunatic murderer or something?” Sharon’s petulant voice broke across Natasha’s contemplation as she tried to decide what to wear for dinner. It was not a date. Not yet. Not even with that kiss last night.</p><p>A kiss that made her ache and wanting more. When he had lifted his head that night, the look in his eyes had taken her breath away. It was hot and possessive, all of it visible for a split second before the amused mask clicked back into place. A glimpse that she was pleased to see.</p><p>Natasha still had no idea why Sharon Carter, a prima ballerina herself, offered to be her companion and roommate. They had been rivals since they were kids. Her late parents sponsored Sharon Carter's education and ballet training. But after the accident, Sharon insisted and convinced their mentor Nicholas Fury to be her companion.</p><p>She now shared her 3-bedroom apartment in St. Petersburg. That once was a communal flat in the 16<sup>th</sup> century with long corridors and unique rooms. One of which transformed into a dance studio. With floor to ceiling windows and mirrored walls.</p><p>Her bedroom was the blue room. A four-poster bed sat in the center, draped in ecru lace and silk sheets, an antique study lamp on top of a dark wood mahogany desk that she inherited from her father. Over its head hung a bookshelf with endless rows of books that caught her interest. It’s walls were in cerulean except for one wall, that boasted a mural painting of her and her mother. A scene to her early years in ballet.</p><p>“Oh, come on. We are talking about Steve Rogers” Natasha said. “Everybody knows him.”</p><p>Natasha flicked through the rails in her walk-in closet as she spoke, one hand rested heavily on the cane at her side. " Anyway, you know where I am going. So, if I do not come back, you can raise the alarm.” She chuckled.</p><p>Sharon mumbled something sharp under her breath and flounced out. Used to her dramatics, Natasha ignored her. Her mood swings were getting worse. One day, she will have to deal with it and discuss it with her mentor. With the driver picking her up---in less than two hours, she checked the time by the clock on the bedside table. She needed to get ready.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Forty-five minutes later, she slid into the back seat of a 1964 Blue Aston Martin, Steve had sent for her. Black silk wrapped over the form-fitting strapless turquoise evening gown she had chosen.  She shivered. Chilled from the short walk, she pulled the wrap tighter on her bare shoulders as the passenger door closed behind her. Thankfully, the car was warm as she released the death grip on her wrap and allowed it to slid back a little.</p><p>As they drove, the scenery passed by in a blur. Natasha stared blankly out the window, Pine forests sprawled the mountains and marshes along the coast. She nibbled at her lips as another worry occurred to her. Was she overdressed? The gown that she picked was suitable for a night at a ballet or a swanky reception.What if he took her somewhere informal? A shudder ran up her spine as she imagined being seated in a fast food joint dressed like this. She dismissed the thought. Steve would not do anything to make her uncomfortable. Still, the worry lingered in the back of her mind until the car slowed and turned off the road.</p><p>All thoughts fled as tall iron gates loomed before them. Ornate and detailed. It looked like something out of the last century pulled into the present. It leads into a courtyard. The car came to a stop, and the driver waited as the large steel gates opened.</p><p>Natasha felt like she had been transported back in time as the car swept up a long driveway to the house. Like the archway, the mansion was something out of an era. She caught her breath as the car pulled up in front of a huge wooden carved front doors. Any worry about being overdressed disappeared; she could arrive in a ball gown and not be out of place here.</p><p>The chauffeur walked around the front of the car to open her door, but Natasha barely noticed him. At most times, she would avoid being rude. But her eyes locked onto the front of the mansion, and speech was impossible. Dread coiled into a tight knot in her stomach as the chauffeur motioned for her.</p><p>Steps. Long, stone steps led up to the front of the white mansion. Low and wide, they would not be an issue for most people. But for her, they presented a problem.</p><p>She tried to keep her panic under control. She looked for a handrail or anything she could use to pull herself up the staircase. Nothing. The steps were wrapped around the main door in an unbroken half circle. Unless she wanted to try to crawl up the walls, she was up to a creek without a paddle.</p><p> With cheeks burned, Natasha reached for her cane, fumbled as the chauffeur waited patiently. His patience made worse as she dropped it. Her eyes prickled with tears, she cursed under her breath. Natasha reached down and grabbed her cane. <em>Why did she think to call ahead about this?</em> Used to a world of lifts and elevators, she did not considered steps.</p><p>But then, she did not expect Steve to live in a cross between an old English Manor and a bloody castle. She figured him for a condominium or high rise kind of man. Finally, she sorted herself and slid out of the car with the cane held firmly in her hand.</p><p>“Thank you,” she murmured to the chauffeur.</p><p>Natasha moved away from the car and studied the steps in front, her knuckles grew white. The car door shut behind her, the crunch of the chauffer’s footsteps over the gravel, barely heard as she steeled herself to the task. She could do this. She had to do this.</p><p>Natasha had taken less than a step before Steve was in front of her. Startled, she stumbled. Strong arms quickly closed around her and stopped her fall.</p><p>“What… where did you come from?” Natasha blinked in surprise.</p><p>He did not release her; Instead, his large hands splayed over the small of her back as his fingers rubbed in small circles. The slight touch drove her blood pressure through the roof.</p><p>“I have been here the whole time.” Steve smiled.</p><p>“No, you were not. I would have seen you,” Natasha insisted. She absently smoothed her hands over his arms.</p><p>Despite his lean build, He felt solidly muscled beneath her fingertips.  Much more so than she would expect for someone with his leisure lifestyle. He must have lift weights or have been in the army… Her thoughts trailed off as he smiled, the corner of his eyes crinkled endearingly. The tiny imperfection—a small mark of age—in his otherwise, perfect face. it reassured her, but his look changed, he became intense. Hungry. Like that of a starved man who was about to be served a fine steak.</p><p>“Let me…Please.” the order was softened with a plea, as though he remembered his manners at the last minute. But it was an order. Natasha sensed Steve Rogers was a man used to giving orders. To get what he wanted.</p><p>Her heart skipped a beat, then started up in earnest, hammered against her breastbone like an animal desperate to escape. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned down and scooped her up in his arms as though she weighed nothing. She stiffened as a flush built over her cheeks. She hated to give any sign of weakness and to be carried up a couple of steps by a man, she fancied her pants off. There was an upside, though; she was also, held up close and personal to the lean male body she ached to run her hands over.</p><p>Natasha shivered but held his eyes. She had found it striking, but she never realized ice blue had so much heat. A dark heat, that captivated her as he carried her up the steps.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She was so light and perfect in his arms. With his strength, Steve could juggle small cars if he wanted to, so her weight wasn’t an issue. But he wasn’t prepared for how light she felt or how perfect the moment was. Her pale arms, curled around his shoulders. she fit against him as though she was, made for him to be there.</p><p>Steve made his stride as smooth as possible, He walked through the front door. Picking her up had been a bad idea. He felt her curves against his chest, her subtle perfume, and the hum of her blood under her skin all conspired to drove him mad. It aroused the instincts of the man he had always been, and the vampire he had become.</p><p>His hands tightened as he took another breath, isolated the scent of her skin under the perfume and the lingering smell of shampoo. He drew her scent, into his lungs. She had a sweet, addictive smell. The olfactory version of chocolate and opium combined. perhaps, exotic and erotic.</p><p>Steve’s mind blanked as he walked through the foyer. He couldn’t remember one good reason why he shouldn’t carry her up the stairs. Turn left and walk down the corridor to his bed-chamber. Lay her on his bed.</p><p>He imagined her there, stretched on silken sheets with her glorious red hair spread across her like a wildfire. He would tie her with a red silken cord he had purchased for such an occasion. How delicious she would look with it looped around her delicate wrists and ankles, pulled tight to open her body to him.</p><p>He swallowed as his body tightened and ached. The need to make the fantasy a reality. Her soft thighs spread for him as he thrust into her. Over and over, nearly undid him. He longed to pleasure her until they were both too exhausted to move.</p><p>Steve started to walk towards the stairs when he caught her searching gaze. The trust and innocence in her green eyes slammed a brick into his gut, and his steps faltered. He could not do it. Her arms tightened around his neck a little, and she smiled. With the slightest curve of her lips, Steve felt like he was basking under the sun. A privilege that he had not seen in centuries. So, he changed his course and headed towards the dining room instead.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Steve, you have a beautiful home. How long have you lived here?" Natasha asked with a slight tremble in her voice as Steve carried her, along the darkened part of the mansion. He glanced at her, and for a brief moment, his eyes thrilled her.</p>
<p>She was brought to a seemingly endless hallway. It was straight with portraits on each wall. Illuminated by small candle-like fixtures. She didn’t clearly saw it, but the paintings seemed to be a part of Steve's ancestry. A sudden chill swept through her bones. She saw every exhale of her breath, it set a small cloud in the darkness. One may even think, does he even had electricity in the entire mansion?</p>
<p>“It seemed like forever.” He said. His lips, full and sensual on the masculine lines of his face, curved in a small smile, as he shouldered his way through a door and into a large dining room. A slight gasp escaped her. She felt like Alice in Wonderland. If the outside of the house amazed her, the darkened hallway scared her, it was nothing compared to what is in front of her. Perhaps, an unusual contrast from what she had seen so far. </p>
<p>The room was huge, it boasted a formal dining space made for entertainment. It may have hosted grand parties and dinner festivities for centuries. With its gold-tinted decor and warm metallic tones. It was overwhelmingly beautiful. It was surrounded with vintage wall art, stylish moldings, wine-colored drapes that covered tall windows. The ceiling was painted in cerulean that seemed like clouds. The sparkling chandelier was essential to the component of the Victorian-inspired decor. With its recessed lighting and cleverly placed candles brought out the beauty and grandeur of the interior. In the center was the heavily ornate antique table nearly as large with its handcrafted chairs.  </p>
<p>Natasha counted the chairs but gave up quickly. You could hold a banquet in here and still have room for a live band in the corner. There were only two places in the set, at the far end of the table neared the fire that crackled in the hearth. Steve headed that way, with his long stride. He hooked afoot around the leg of the gilded chair, he pulled it out and settled her down without effort.</p>
<p>“Am I not heavy for you? “She asked.</p>
<p> Steve moved her chair for her. He was stronger than she had expected. He had lifted her without effort. She was not as slim as before. Months and months of minimal exercise had seen to that. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry?” He blinked. Eyes locked on her as he leaned over. So close, his breath whispered over her shoulders and left a trail of fire in its wake.</p>
<p>“You’re very strong carrying me like that.” she smiled.</p>
<p>He slid into a seat next to hers, as amusement crossed his face and he glanced down unto his plate. He reached out to pour a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon for his guest. Natasha expected the evening to go slow and in awkward silence. The usual sort of thing, when two people were learning to get to know each other. </p>
<p>Much to her surprise, dinner came and went in a blur, and if she was asked later, she would not have been able to say what they have eaten. Steve was full of wit and easy to talk to. A man with a dry sense of humor that had her laughing at particular points of their conversation.</p>
<p>Natasha wiped her eyes after yet another laughing fit and glanced up and found him looking at her, a strange expression on his face. A combination of smile and puzzlement that placed a frown between his brows and a quirk on his lips. </p>
<p>“What is it? Do I have something between my teeth?” She asked. While she wiped her mouth with the daisy tied napkin. </p>
<p>“No, nothing in your teeth, I promise.” Steve smiled and sipped his wine. The deep rich fluid flowed past his lips, the strong muscles of his throat worked as he swallowed. He watched her over the rim of the glass. “Why do you ask?”</p>
<p>“You kept looking at me oddly. As though I puzzle you.” She took a sip from her wineglass to hide her self-consciousness. </p>
<p>Steve watched her. He made sure her wine glass was never empty but with no intention to get her drunk and seduce her. Although the temptation was there, He was not going to take her to bed tonight. He needs her to be in an amenable state of mind for his proposal.</p>
<p>If he would finally have got her into his bed, He wanted her stone-cold sober. Aware of every wicked pleasure he led her into, every touch and caress, every lick… </p>
<p>He stopped the shiver midway up his spine, his cock jerked within the confines of his pants again. He shifted on his seat, as he tried to ease the ache that had seemed to become a permanent feature around her. </p>
<p>“You do not puzzle me. You fascinate me,” he said. Steve placed the glass down next to his plate as he studied her. </p>
<p>“I do? Why?” She asked. She leaned on her elbows on the table, her chin in one delicate hand as she waited for an answer. The firelight caressed her, highlighted the delicate collarbone revealed by her dress and her porcelain skin. </p>
<p>“You wouldn’t ask that. You do not want to know the answer.” He growled. Her closeness, his reaction to her affected him more than he realized. Steve held her gaze, got himself under control with an iron will. Then he smiled. A little sparkle in his eyes, to stop the line of questions. He did not want her to follow. </p>
<p>“And If I do?” She persisted. </p>
<p>“You do not react as I expect you to, and I admire your courage. Every week or every month, you come to the ballet, struggled those steps alone. No, let me finish.” He held up his hand as she made to interrupt him. A deep frown, formed on her face. He knew she did not like any mention of her accident. Nor hint towards physical weakness. Evidence of her strength of mind. </p>
<p>The injuries she sustained were extensive and painful. The doctor he had consulted told him she would be in a cocktail of drugs—mainly painkillers—for the rest of her life. </p>
<p>Steve took another sip of wine, considered his words. If this were some corny vampire flick, the wine glass has filled with blood instead of the rich, cabernet sauvignon he preferred. The plate, although, was empty and had been all night. Natasha would not remember whether he had eaten or not; He used his abilities passively, let her saw what she was expected to.  </p>
<p>“Natasha, you're strong, and I have never seen such determination.” He smiled. "I respect that. and despite what happened, you're passion never died. But I also wanted to help." </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Natasha took in his expression. His face tight, it looked as though the admission cost him dearly. His intense blue eyes were hypnotic. The sort of blue a woman—especially a former ballerina that longed for love no longer sure of her worth—could drown in.</p>
<p>But Steve still exuded a sense of danger. He lounged back against the ornately carved chair with one long-fingered hand curled around the stem of a delicate crystal glass. For a moment, she felt like the prey that looked into the face of the hunter. Then, in the blink of an eye, the look disappeared, and he smiled again. </p>
<p>She sighed and leaned her chin on her hand and wondered what she had asked him. For a moment, it seemed very important, but the thought slipped away from her as she looked at him.</p>
<p>“Would you mind if we talk about the accident?” Steve asked in a mellowed voice. He turned the glass around by the stem, and the light from the fire reflected off the crystal. </p>
<p>She shook her head. Fortified with good food and excellent wine, she relaxed and enjoyed the moment. The more time she spent with Steve, the more she felt she could trust him. People she trusted were few and far between. She learned the hard way not to give her trust. Not to let anyone get too close. </p>
<p>Natasha had seen every conceivable story in the gutter press. Mostly total fabrications sold to tabloids by people she had once thought she could trust. She liked the <em>Ballerina claims kidnap by aliens, stole her ability to dance.</em></p>
<p>“No, I do not mind. Most people ask, and I am getting used to it,” she replied. Natasha took a sip of her wine and wondered what he might want to know. Most wanted the gruesome details. Were her legs broken in so many places? How many pins she has? How many stitches? How many scars? </p>
<p>“I am not most people, Natasha,” he said. He stopped spinning the glass and leaned forward, at the same time, the neck of his shirt fell open. She could not help the quick downward glance; she was only human after all. He was lean, but much as she had suspected, Steve packed with wiry muscle. She blushed. </p>
<p>“I am a doctor, Natasha, and I have a treatment—a treatment—that could help you.”</p>
<p>“You? A doctor? You are shitting me, right?" She gawked at him. </p>
<p>Steve winced a little with her choice of language. “Not in this country. of course, but back home. I was a fully qualified physician,” he added.</p>
<p>She nodded. Natasha knew he was from overseas. There was the hint of an American accent when he spoke sometimes and the preciseness of speech, that said Russian, was not his mother tongue. But a doctor? She did not even try to conceal her surprise. </p>
<p>“You do not look like a doctor to me,” she said and raised one eyebrow. </p>
<p>“Appearances can be deceptive. I specialized in your injuries before I left.” he lied. The vampire, a creature of mystery and enchantment, be spelled by his victim. Preposterous but true. “I had some success with an old herbal remedy. I wondered if you would be willing to try it?”</p>
<p>“You have to be fucking kidding me.” she held up her hands and stood abruptly and held on the edge of the ornately carved antique table. She nearly lost her balance. </p>
<p>“Language, Natasha,” he smirked. </p>
<p>“What is in it for you?” She had played this game before, with countless ‘herbal’ healers. They had all wanted one thing—her name as validation of their product.</p>
<p>“Nothing,” Steve shrugged. “Other than the pleasure of helping someone. Someone I see as a friend… perhaps more.”</p>
<p>Steve reached into his pocket and retrieved a small vial. She had seen enough drugs to be able to pick out which among them is a medical vial. It looked odd, not like the ones; she got used to having. This one was made of glass, it had a glass stopper rather than a screw-on cap she was familiar with. Almost like something that came from a museum. Instead of a translucent liquid, a viscous red filled the vial. Instinctive alarm raced through her. </p>
<p>It looked like blood.</p>
<p>“I know, it looks awful. doesn't it? The herbs—when distilled it gives the fluid that weird look,” He held the vial out to her. “Just drop this into a drink in the morning, with Cranberry juice would work well.”</p>
<p>She reached out, despite the small voice in the back of her mind that screamed about blood. She took the vial from Steve and when their fingertips brushed. A vibratory sensation raced from his hand to hers. Startled, she looked up. Their eyes met, and awareness stretched between them. </p>
<p>“I am not stupid, Steve. or should I say, Doctor Rogers?” She smirked.</p>
<p>“I don’t want anything for this. Just try it. If it doesn’t work, we will never talk about it. But whether you do take it or not, it doesn’t change anything. I still want to see you.”</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thoughts?  :-)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“Rise and shine lazy, divas can’t lay about in bed all day.” The brisk and sharp voice and the swish of the curtains as they rattled across the rail dragged Natasha out of her blissful sleep.</p><p>“Ugh,” Natasha kept her eyes closed as a glass clunked down on her bedside table near her head, accompanied by a rattle of bottles. Maybe Sharon would go away if she pretended to be asleep. </p><p>“Come on, Natasha, you were out half the night. Monsieur Fury had been calling me nonstop to check on you.” Sharon’s sharp voice stabbed through her ears as she bustled around, fussed in a way she knew Natasha detested. </p><p>Therein lay the problem.</p><p>They had never been friends. They were considered rivals. argued in the dance studio up to the performances itself. As little girls, both were drawn to ballet after they had watched Natasha’s mother, Melina Vost Romanoff, an accomplished ballerina and choreographer herself.</p><p>They were, later on, introduced to theatre and music at an early age. Melina, though hesitant, saw their potential. </p><p>Sharon Carter waited patiently for the chance to audition at Bolshoi, she had the sufficient capacity to absorb physical and mental artistic training. While Natasha’s talent for dance came out naturally. When she started, she became one with the music, became the character in every performance, and showed the audience her passion for the craft.</p><p>She started from the Classics such as Swan Lake to the contemporary that abandoned the rigid aspect of the dance. </p><p>Since the death of Natasha’s parents, Sharon’s attitude had changed. She became more aggressive and competitive. She played on Natasha’s sympathies and pleaded with their mentor to be her companion. At the time, it had solved minor problems. Sharon assisted her while she recuperated. Then Sharon’s attitude moved in. </p><p>Natasha didn’t like the controversy within the theater, Sharon had accepted proposals from wealthy patrons. To secure a solo, she had started a relationship with one wealthy oligarch. The latter never denied it. </p><p>Natasha winced as she turned over in bed. A slow, painful movement as she eased her cramped limbs into the day. Even snuggled under the duvet, she felt the bone-deep ache that heralded the cold morning. </p><p>“I’ll be up in a bit, would you get the coffee and toast on, please?” Natasha asked, her voice still roughed from sleep. </p><p>“Yeah. Whatever. Don’t forget Alexander’s picking me up in an hour. You need to be up and downstairs before he gets here or you’ll have to stay up here until I get back.” Sharon said. </p><p>“ You should stop seeing him. You are better than that,” Natasha sighed. “I may not be as active, but I’m aware of the rumors.”</p><p>“It’s none of your business,” Sharon scoffed. “Unlike you, I don’t have the inheritance or the heritage that would secure my position in Bolshoi.” </p><p>Natasha held her temper with an effort as she pushed herself upright on the bed. Perhaps she could call Fury. A nurse would be better than this verbal spat between them. She bit her tongue to stop anything that might result in more verbal abuse.</p><p>Sharon gathered her clothes from last night, placed them on the laundry basket that she had carried, and left the room.</p><p>She reached for the glass of water and painkillers and brushed against the small beaded handbag she had placed on the side table the night before.</p><p>“Oh shit,” she hissed as the bag tipped. Its contents started to roll from the open top. She made a grab at them both the lipstick and compact made their escape and fell to the floor. The third escapee wasn’t so lucky. Natasha closed her hand around a glass cylinder. The vial Steve had given her. She almost forgot about it. Curious, she held it aloft, tilt it from side to side as she watched the fluid inside moved back and forth. </p><p>A smile curved her lips. Steve was a bundle of surprise, wasn’t he? She had seen him as the wealthy philanthropist, sexy—and maybe a slightly dangerous man. But as she found out, he was far more. But a doctor? </p><p>Unlike any other doctor she had met, he treated her like a person. Not like a victim or the sum of her injuries. Not even as a celebrity. He did not seem to look for a name for himself to treat her. He did not mention anything else about it. He just given her the vial, said it was mostly made of herbs, and carried on to charm her.</p><p>He was if a little disturbing at times with his ice-cold gaze, but he flirted with her. Usually, Natasha was unnerved when men paid too much attention. </p><p>She knew that a scar rendered a person less attractive and worthy. Especially inside a society where appearances meant everything.</p><p>Steve did not make her nervous, though, he did look at her with a combination of pity and admiration. Natasha didn’t felt odd. Not even when he carried her back out to the car, she never felt awkward about it. Instead, she felt looked after, cherished. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The vial was still on her bed when she made it out of the shower. she pulled on some loose exercise grey pants and a skinny white rib t-shirt. <em>What harm could herbs do?</em> She slid it into her pants pocket as she grabs her cane, sat on the stairlift, and head downstairs.</p><p>Natasha sat at the formal dining table, toast in front of her and coffee in hand, she sipped at the life-restoring liquid with a look of bliss on her face. The first cup of coffee in the morning invigorated her. She read the morning paper as Sharon bustled in and out.</p><p>“There’s a plated salad in the fridge, leftover from last night. You’ll have to make do with that unless you want to stand around cooking.” Sharon said sharply. It looked as if she was annoyed with the world in general, and in Natasha, in particular. </p><p>“I could always order pizza.” Natasha shrugged. “I’m not completely disabled.” She would usually ignore Sharon’s sour moods but her legs ached from the cold and that it irritated her.</p><p>A car horn sounded outside. Sharon waved as a sleek silver Mercedes pulled up in front of the kitchen window. Alexander Pierce, Sharon’s boyfriend. As usual, he peered through the window. Natasha hunkered down and used her coffee mug as a shield. She was uncomfortable when he was around. The way he looked at her, as though he was mentally undressing her, made her want to take a month-long shower. <em>Ugh!</em>   </p><p>“Right, that’s it, I’m out of here. Try not to fall over or anything and ruin my day, okay?” Sharon threw the scathing comment over her shoulder and grabbed her bag and headed for the door.</p><p>Natasha breathed a sigh of relief as she heard the door closed behind her bitchy roommate. She took another sip of coffee and ignored the car and its occupant outside. She had no clue what Sharon saw in that guy.</p><p>Alexander Pierce was maybe around fifty, his skin tanned like a surfer, his teeth too white, and his blonde hair was almost perfect. He never passed the opportunity to check his reflection in a mirror, window, or other shiny surfaces. Pierce was filthy rich and had political connections, something he took pride in. She recalled Steve’s easy manner, the casual way he wore his clothes like a gentleman from the forties. By contrast, Pierce could not compare.</p><p>Idly, she played with the vial, spun it around and around the table. Herbal remedy, Steve said, just herbs. She watched the liquid inside the glass splash up against the sides of the small vial. </p><p>Natasha sipped her coffee, ate her toast, and contemplated his offer. It would certainly give her an excuse to see him again. for however duration his <em>treatment </em>lasted. </p><p>The car door opened outside. Sharon’s voice drifted through the slightly open kitchen window. “Yeah, the impaired ballerina was all sorted. She’ll be fine. She’ll have to lie on her own piss if she falls over; I’ve had enough cleaning after her.”</p><p>Natasha froze at the harsh words, uttered with hatred, filtered through her brain. She was aware they weren’t friends since the beginning. They were quite the opposite. She never imagined Sharon hated her this much. </p><p>Tears prickled hot and insistent at the back of her eyes as she stared at the residue of coffee in her mug. <em>She had suspected and knew somehow?</em> But to hear it like that was just too much. </p><p>Mechanically, she went to the fridge, got the Cranberry juice, and poured herself a glass. She refused to give in to tears while they were still in possible earshot. She moved without thought. Her hands shook as she opened the vial. Absently, she tipped the fluid into her glass as she watched the window out of the corner of her eye. The thick red liquid sank into the crystal glass, dropped to the bottom before it bellowed out into a thick cloud, and disappeared into the fruit juice. </p><p>Natasha sagged against the table. She had been through worse, She, would not allow it to affect her. The first item of the day would be to call Nick and ask for a nursing company and get someone to assist her as quickly as possible. She wiped her cheeks, annoyed with herself that she allowed things to escalate like this. </p><p>With a sigh, she contemplated at the table in front of her. The toast… she threw it away, she can no longer ingest the jam saturated concoction. She then picked up the glass of cranberry juice. The smell warned her before she took a sip, an odd metallic scent assaulted her nostrils. She held it up. <em>Was it off or something? Did it go stale?</em> Then her gaze fell unto the emptied vial on the table. </p><p>“What the hell?” She looked at the glass again, took a sniff, and shrugged. “Well, if a car can’t kill me, bring on the herbs.”</p><p> </p><p>She leaned forward and took a sip, held her breath against the strong metallic scent. It didn’t taste as weird as she expected but it had a delicate flavor that complemented the sharp taste of cranberry. <em>Oh, Wow!</em> A soft surprised sound rumbled in her throat as the juice hit her tongue, tantalized, and seduced her taste buds. She gulped down the cranberry juice with eagerness, drained the rest in seconds. </p><p>She closed her eyes in sheer bliss as a warm shiver ran over her entire body. Goosebumps rose across her skin. Her lips parted in a soft moan as the heat rolled inward and settled in the cradle of her pelvis. Wet heat slid from her as her pussy clenched and moist ran in her lace underwear. </p><p>Natasha put the glass down on the table, a dull clunk shocked her out of her pleasure. She blinked and stared at it in surprise. <em>What the hell had Steve put in the stuff?</em> She almost had an orgasm on the spot. If this was his idea of treatment, she planned to sign up for a year. Hell, she would sign up for a lifetime. </p><p>She stretched, arched her back, and ran her hands through her hair. She turned and saw herself at the mirror that hung across the Georgian eight-seater dining table.</p><p>Hands buried in her red curls, she stretched and had forced her back into a sensuous curve, pushed her breasts out, full and aching against her thin cotton top. Knowing she was alone, Natasha slid her hands through her hair that held on top with a messy bun, caressed down her throat and over the curve of her breasts, she felt a slight weight, and leaned forward, she pursed her lips seductively and cupped her breasts together. So, the cleavage in the deep V of her top increased. She laughed at the image of the femme fatale who looked back. </p><p>“Yeah, right, you are such a man-eater. Back down to reality, Natalia.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Miles away, Steve’s eyes snapped open in the forced darkness of his bedroom. The shutters were closed; the room pitched black behind them with the floor to ceiling blackout curtains. The shutters were enough but when the smallest amount of sunlight gave him a fatal case of sunburn, it was good to invest in remote-controlled blinds as well. </p><p>For centuries, his ancestors managed the mansion to looked like a crypt. To be born as a vampire, he had seen, heard, and done it all. Being the only surviving heir, He decided there’s no room for sentimentality, Steve renovated every room. He rid of the frightful interior and replaced it with what interests him. He only kept his parent’s portraits. As time went by, the mansion had evolved in every era.</p><p>Desire hit him before he was fully awake. He groaned and rolled over onto his back. His erection was hard then he could ever recall. Realization filtered through the red fog behind his eyes. Natasha had used the vial; she had drunk his blood. It pulled him out of his rest. </p><p>Another wave hit, and Steve groaned. He bit his lip, lifted his arms and gripped the pillow, and dragged it over his head. </p><p>In his mind’s eye, he could see her, the link in his blood had forged into place with a strength that took his breath away. He had known this would happen. Something about Natasha called to him, told him she was born to be a vampire’s bride. More than that, <em>his</em> bride. </p><p>For all their immortal lives, male vampires, whether they were bitten or born, were driven to find a mate. Some called them life mates, soul mates. Steve did not believe in such things. But even he could not account for the need that had hit him as soon as he had seen Natasha. The possessive need to take her and make her his. </p><p>
  <em> Oh my god, she had her hands on her body. </em>
</p><p>Steve moaned a mingled sound of, distress, and need. as the link relayed what Natasha was seeing. A short term effect when she drank his blood. One Steve assumed, he would sleep through. He did not anticipate the strength would wake him. with such erotic images, Images that drove him mad—her hands on her tight little body, her fingers run over those delicate curves. He could almost smell her hypnotizing scent. Like, roses as a bed of rose petals. </p><p>Heat swept through him, and a bead of pre-cum slid off from the head of his erection as he held himself perfectly still, prayed the link would last. He just needed a little longer, so he could watch her touch herself. But the vision faded into blackness, her laughter, full and rich. It teased him as he slid back down into the darkness of daytime sleep. Desperately, Steve tried to held on, stayed with her, but the sun was high, and the familiar stillness claimed him again. </p><p>“No…”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha snapped her head around, convinced she had heard a voice behind her. Her hands dropped from her body, flushed her cheeks. For a moment, she had thought she heard Steve’s voice. She shook her head. <em>God, she had it bad if she started hearing his voice in an empty room.</em> Just the thought of him was enough to make her ache with heat again. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Probably the longest chapter I've written. Lol.  What do you think?  Happy Thanksgiving! Stay safe. x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His voice taunted her from the other night. He could not have meant what she thought he had meant. </p>
<p>
  <em>"I can assure you, if you paraded around me naked, I would not be leaving you alone. I would not be able to keep my hands off of you. "</em>
</p>
<p>He kissed her, but he had not made a move for anything else. Much as how she wanted him to. </p>
<p>Last night’s anticipation coursed through her body. At a certain point, he had slid her into the backseat of the car and had bid her goodnight. He did nothing more than a quick kiss on the cheek.</p>
<p>She figured she was good enough to kiss but not good enough to move things forward. </p>
<p>Natasha felt connected to Steve. His arms, his touch, and his embrace. She gets lost in his eyes. She could drown in them. The emotions were so raw and stronger than ever.</p>
<p>Rather than dwell on something she could not change, Natasha slid her empty glass to the side and reached for the cordless phone. She carried it around when alone in case she fell. She had programmed her mentor Nick Fury's number and the local nursing service on speed dial. </p>
<p>Her fingertips brushed against the phone yet it skittered away. </p>
<p>“Oh, fuck it.”</p>
<p>The handset danced across the table and leaped off the edge as hell-bent on its final leap. She winced as it hit the tile floor, a shattering noise indicated it might have broken. She cursed under her breath and leaped from the chair and rounded the table to collect the pieces. </p>
<p>The back was off, batteries were out and rolled in different directions. Relief swept through Natasha as she grabbed the wayward pieces. It did not look too bad. Perhaps if she put the batteries back in and the back on the phone will be ok. She needed it for emergencies.</p>
<p>Only then did she realized she knelt on the cold tile floor, the once shattered legs folded easily beneath her. </p>
<p>“What the hell…?”</p>
<p>She looked back at the table, with her cane still against the chair where she had left it. Somehow, she managed to move at least six feet without assistance. Something she had not been able to do since the accident. </p>
<p>“Ok, calm down Natalia, this may be a dream. A fucking sick one, but a dream. There is no such thing as a miracle cure; you know that.” She told herself and fought down the wonder that tried to crowd down into her heart. Slowly she got to her feet, waited for the debilitating pain to return, and drove her to her knees again. </p>
<p>To her surprise, nothing happened. Her muscles were tight like she tried to dance without warming up. She flexed her calves, eased a little of the tightness. Again, nothing. No pain, no trembling. </p>
<p>Hope joined the wonder as it jostled for the best view. <em>Could this be real? Could herbs have come through</em> <em>where modern medicine failed?</em> Stranger things had happened. Right at this moment, she was not so sure. </p>
<p>Natasha took a step. Then another and another. In seconds, she reached the other side of the kitchen. She clutched at the white marble countertop as her tears welled in her eyes. She could walk.</p>
<p>“It worked. It worked. Fucking hell, it worked!” She cried in joy as she walked across the kitchen again. She grabbed the door frame, spun around it, and broke into a run down the corridor.</p>
<p>Finally, after so many long months, she could walk, and the only thing she wanted to do was dance. She scrambled up on the stairs, ran past her bedroom on swift feet to crash through the doors at the end of the corridor.</p>
<p>Natasha paused in the doorway to look at the empty room. Her dance studio. She had not been here since before the accident. She had not been able to face the blatant reminder of what she had lost. </p>
<p>The smell of vinyl floor covering. The light shone brightly through the window of the empty studio. A baby grand piano stood at a corner, untouched for many months. The gentle music that seemed to echo within her, brought calmness to her soul. </p>
<p>The dance studio is where she belonged. Amidst the noise and chaos of the outside world, the small quaint studio was her sanctuary. </p>
<p>Her practice shoes still sat on the bench under the window yet, Natasha ignored them. She did not have time to mess about shoes, not when she could be dancing. The need to move welled inside her until it was too great to resist. Adrenalin rushed through her veins as she ran lightly across the sprung floor to the barre. Her instincts all screamed at her to dance. <em>Now.</em> No more wasting time. Years of training had drilled into her, the need to stretch, and she started her warm-up routine. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Around mid-afternoon, Natasha slumped against the wall, slid down to sit on the floor with her legs stretched out in front of her. Exhaustion raked her body, her muscles screamed, but she still grinned. Natasha leaned her head back against the glass, and ran her hand through her hair, pushed it back off her face as her heart rate returned to normal. Elation filled; she had not felt so alive in so many months.</p>
<p>“Steve!” she gasped into the empty room. He would want to know. Of course, he would like to know. It was amazing, beyond her wildest imaginations. She did not mind if he wanted to take credit publicly. He could announce her recovery to the whole world for all she cared. </p>
<p>She got up, all excited about her news, and when she reached the door, her muscles started to tighten. Dread hit her like a freight train as the familiar pain radiated up to her legs. Her movements, so free a moment before, had started to slow.</p>
<p>“No, No, not now. I was fine, it worked. It cannot be happening, Please!” She grabbed at the banister for support when her legs cramped. The intense pain nearly made her pass out. Tears trickled down her face. Her pleas went unheard, and within seconds she had returned to her shuffling movements. She made her way inch by inch to her bedroom. </p>
<p>Exhausted and defeated, she flopped down onto her bed. Huge, racking sobs tore at her chest as tears ran down her face. Natasha gave in and let misery enveloped her again. </p>
<p>The iron bars that held her bend out of their way. She wore a mask of cope and normality. Her soul crumbled into pieces once more. She learned how to hide the pain, to look normal. It was an endless emotional marathon and bled knees.</p>
<p>Steve has awakened again with an intense heartache. He watched Natasha’s eyes. He saw through her, the anger and fear. Like a soldier scared for his life and yet fought the battle. Lonely and desperate. He breathed in real slow. <em>Damn the consequences, I see you, the pain in those eyes. I will heal your scars, baby. One day I will set you free. I may not be a perfect soldier or your prince, but I know I love you. Give me a chance to prove it to you. I will bring you home, my love. </em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Later in the evening, the tears had dried up, and Natasha stared blank-eyed at the ceiling. She had walked, it had been real. Even she, could not dream up something like that. <em>Had she made the whole thing up? </em></p>
<p><em>Steve, with his cure, the whole thing this morning?</em> Perhaps she might have been sick. It was all hallucinations. </p>
<p>She could not have made up the whole thing, though? The dinner date last night, the vial Steve had given her. Memories of those seemed real. Surely, she could not have imagined something so palpable and detailed. </p>
<p>The night at the ballet, when he kissed her…</p>
<p>“One way to find out.” She turned over and reached for the bag on the bedside table. she took out her phone. She opened it and scanned the recent contacts for Steve’s number, and hit dial.</p>
<p>He took a while to answer, his voice rough and sleepy. “Hello, Natasha. I suspect you took the vial.”</p>
<p>Heat raced through her body again. Like, the moment when she drank the herbal concoction earlier. She wriggled to sit up, pressed her thighs together as a flush covered her cheeks. <em>Oh my god. Just the sound of his voice turns me on. Calm down, Natalia. </em></p>
<p>“I did. yet, it wore off. I could dance. I was stronger, better even than I was before. No pain, muscles were loose. I could even do some moves I could not do without a lot of practice leading up to— “</p>
<p>“Calm down, Natasha.” his voice was soft over the phone line. “Deep breaths.”</p>
<p>She inhaled and recognized the onset of a panic attack. They had been frequent in the early days before she came to terms with the fact she will never dance again, but she did not have one for a while now. </p>
<p>After a perfect glimpse at the world she loved and had it snatched away, she sensed herself on the edge of the precipice once again.</p>
<p>“It is not working anymore, though. I just finished one of my routines, and my legs began to cramp, and I cannot walk properly.” She said. Natasha hated the pathetic tone of her voice but fought against her pride. She needed to dance, and this man could help her.</p>
<p>“It will wear off, Natasha. It is not a cure. The serum… alleviates the symptoms, shall we say?”</p>
<p>Hope had filled Natasha. Like, a star that had gone supernova.</p>
<p>“You mean, that was not it? I can continue to take it and dance?” she asked. Natasha concentrated on two things, the phone pressed to her ear and the man on the other end of the line. </p>
<p>“You can, yes. But— “</p>
<p>“But what? No buts. I was dancing. I need to dance, Steve, please.”</p>
<p>He chuckled, the sound of a low rumble that reached across the phone line and sent a shiver through her body. She smothered a small gasp as her nipples peaked and rubbed against her t-shirt. </p>
<p>“I was going to say is there will be a price.”</p>
<p>“That is all?” Relief washed through Natasha. She had been terrified he was going to tell her she could only take the herbs once. Or some other maximum dosage she had to abide.</p>
<p>" I do not care. Anything you want, anything. When can I get more of it—the herbal stuff?”</p>
<p>“It is an infusion, not ‘herbal stuff’,” Steve said.</p>
<p>Natasha could hear the smile on his voice. Then the deep tones dropped seriously. </p>
<p>“Be very careful what you promise, Nat. Something lost can be regained, but never without a price. And it is not always monetary. Do you understand what I am telling you?”</p>
<p>Natasha shrugged, brushed off the small tremor of alarm in the back of her mind.</p>
<p>“I do not care, I said anything, and I meant it. I have to dance; <em>I need</em> to dance. Whatever it takes.”</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>comments are welcome. good or bad. I suppose it will help me improve. x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Silence reigned inside the theatre. There were no adamant chatter or mobile phones that chirped. No whispered conversations. Nor the creaked of chairs from people who shifted from their seats. All eyes were fixed on the darkened stage. The anticipation palpable, as though the entire audience held a collective breath.</p>
<p>Natasha Romanoff communicated her thoughts through her movements. An artist and a dancer were the composites that captured her in motion. After so many months, with dread and excitement, she was back on stage. </p>
<p>Ballet liberated her. Emotions come out freely. Despite difficulties and sacrifices, she could never find a way to abandon it. She may have stopped dancing for a while, but she could never stop loving it. </p>
<p>Then the music started, and the haunting notes from the orchestra reached out to all the corners of crowded darkness and held those within spellbound.</p>
<p>The play was Tchaikovsky's' Swan Lake. It is an epic tale of lovers reunited in the spirit world. The cast was in elegant costumes that represented the time and culture intended by the story. The sheer material worn by the dancers, were beautiful that it brought out the perfect swan imagery. </p>
<p>Given that there was no use of words, the dancers used the classic choreography, wherein Bolshoi was known for, to tell the story. </p>
<p>On stage, the lights were on, the spotlight highlighted a single figure in the center. With the rest of the audience, Steve sucked in a breath. Something that was long gone, and yet it compelled him.</p>
<p>
  <em>Natasha.</em>
</p>
<p>As she reprised the role of Odette, her head bowed, she started to move. Steve was overwhelmed with her fluidity as she glides across the stage. The rest of the room fell away and ceased to exist; nothing else mattered to him than the woman who was on center stage. Her graceful, almost feline movements as she swayed then burst into Pirouettes, turns, and stance.</p>
<p>Steve leaned back in his chair, elbow on the arm, his chin supported on his hands as he watched. The play stimulated many memories in his brain. Visual images that evoked sadness... </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>It was the 16<sup>th</sup> century. The smell of blood. Screaming. His screams, as his beloved Natalia died in his arms, under the wheels of a horse-driven carriage.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Monster! " she yelled. Natalia fled from their bedroom before he could even say a word. His heart pounded, he raced after her, but the front door slammed open before he was out of the room.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Natalia!" But she did not stop, fled down the steps of their Victorian London flat which she insisted they bought after their marriage. He saw the carriage before she did, and bellowed for her to stop. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Fear was in his voice, Too late. Her yellow silk gown billowed in a cloud under the horses' hooves, and a scream tore through the air. His or hers, he could not tell. Scarlet spread over the silk. Cherry colors to herald the end of life. Death hung in the air, his preternatural senses informed him the instant her heart stopped beating...</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"I will never hurt you, my love."</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve was roused from his reverie when the music slid into the introduction for the <em>Grand Pas </em>and theother dancers melted away, leaving Natasha alone in the middle of the stage.</p>
<p>The audience cooed in excitement. Her comeback performance had been the <em>piece de resistance</em> of the entire show, had drawn media and public attention in a way no one had expected. The ballet concert had extended three times; dates were added, once the ballet company was sure Natasha could handle the extra workload. </p>
<p><em>The Ice Queen is back better than ever! The Return of Romanoff!</em> the headlines had raved about her for weeks, reports dissected each performance, and experts argued over her technique. Some praised, some looked for a weakness they could not find. Other than the need to wear thick, opaque maillot, no one would see the scars on her legs, no flaws in her performance. The fault was nonexistence.  </p>
<p>Steve had seen many ballerinas in his time, He was a patron. He had been at the start of the Bolshoi, seen prima ballerina’s come and go. When he said he had been a follower all his life, most people did not realize that meant centuries. Almost, from its first step towards the present. He had changed his appearance and name over the years, he had seen all the greats. And his Natasha ranked right up there with the best of them.</p>
<p>As the music rolled into a crescendo, Natasha leaped into an impossible stance, held it there with almost inhuman strength and poise, elegance in every line of her body. A study in dexterity and skill that had the audience erupted into cheers. The press seated at the front went wild, lighted up the auditorium with flashbulbs as they sought to capture the perfect photograph.</p>
<p>Steve stood and let himself out of his box and headed down back the stairs. He was delighted. There would be standing ovations, the crowd would go mad for her, which he thought gave him plenty of time to get backstage and wait for her. Everyone knew who he was and that he was there to see the prima ballerina.</p>
<p>They did not know he was her ‘doctor’ though. People merely thought he was her lover; the lucky bastard who succeeded to broke down the walls of the ice queen when so many other men failed. Natasha could not understand why he did not want her to tell people about his herbal remedy, why he preferred to keep his profession a secret and let the world think he was a rich patron of the arts.</p>
<p>He had told her the plant was so rare that the source might be compromised. Something of a risk unless he can have synthesized it in a lab. A touch of light misdirection, a nudge of compulsion, and she accepted the lies.</p>
<p>He hated to lie to her, but he had no choice. After all, he could not admit what was really happening. He could not tell her the liquid on those vials were not herbal in origin. They contained blood. His blood. The blood of a powerful, century-old vampire.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve nodded to Jarvis, one of the backstage hands, and personally handpicked by Monsieur Fury to assist Natasha. A smile broke out across his lined face as he caught sight of Steve. “Evening, Mr. Rogers. Off to see the lady?” </p>
<p>“Yes, Jarvis. Do you know if my roses arrived yet?” Steve asked. </p>
<p>He liked the older human. With his white hair, sparkling grey eyes that seemed to see everything had a friendly smile. Steve stopped to chat for a while. With Jarvis, there was no hidden agenda. What you see is what you get. He also held Natasha in admiration.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir. set it there myself. At the front, so the lady sees it first.” Jarvis winked. </p>
<p>Steve laughed as he clapped Jarvis on the arm. “Good man, good. Right, I best be gone. Do not want to keep the lady waiting, do I?” </p>
<p>Steve left Jarvis to go about his work and strode down the corridor to Natasha’s dressing room. He pushed open the door, the floral scent hit him straight away. <em>It is like a bloody florist shop in here.</em> His lip curled as he took in the bouquets lined up for her; bouquets from admirers, mostly men. </p>
<p>Natasha was his. as jealousy rose from him. She belonged to him and no other. He closed his eyes, and a tremor ran through him as he got himself under control. Things got harder and harder.</p>
<p>She had taken his blood, and the omnipotent elixir wove its magic and temporarily healed the horrendous injuries she had sustained in the accident. It was his blood that allowed her to dance, granted her an ethereal grace, in particular, when added to her natural elegance, was breathtaking. Her movements hypnotized, drew the audience in—and held them spellbound. </p>
<p>He had seen the same thing happened before; she affected people the same way female vampires did when they hunted. They lured their victims with the promise of sex. A taste of heaven no mortal man would pass up. Even he fell under her sway earlier, and he had not been human for centuries.</p>
<p>He opened his eyes and looked in the floor-length mirror that was on the right side wall of the dressing room. His reflection looked back at him. At six-feet and two inches tall and fairly looking, His sandy blonde hair was cut short, no longer the loose, shoulder-length locks he preferred for centuries. Blue eyes with a speck of green looked back at him. its luminescent color was richer than any mortal eye.</p>
<p>He concentrated and saw the glint of gold specks and red. a kaleidoscope, if one knew what to look for, aside from the pale color of his skin and the way he held himself would give him away. But for the inexperienced eyes, he could pass for a human. </p>
<p>Another glance in the mirror reassured him he was fit for company; Steve wore a midnight blue tux, exquisitely cut to precision, bold across the shoulders, fine lines around the waist, the perfect inverted triangle, satin lapels, and perfect length. A shudder of relief shook his shoulders. He needed to be careful with his reactions, especially around Natasha.</p>
<p>With his blood that swirled through her veins, and with his control on a knife-edge. Natasha was doubly dangerous to him. All it would take to start up a conversation would be his bite. For him, to take her blood. She has taken it willingly, albeit unknowingly, and the tiniest nip from him would seal her fate.  </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thoughts? :-)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>“What is the meaning of this?” Sharon fumed. She threw the documents towards Natasha and it scattered all over the floor.</p>
<p>They stood at the back wall when Sharon grabbed her after the curtains fell. Still in their wardrobes.</p>
<p>Natasha sighed, her arms folded over her chest as she looked at Sharon whose eyes flashed in anger. <em> Not a good sign</em>.</p>
<p>“It means I’m officially removing you as my companion/personal assistant. It is clearly stated there..” Natasha kept her cool. She did not want to get into an argument especially right after a performance but she figured it was overdue. Since she had no longer needed a companion and had discussed it with her mentor, Monsieur Fury. Sharon had used the time being with her to indulge herself, at Natasha’s expense.</p>
<p>Natasha nodded toward the stage. “As you can see, I don’t need you to care for me anymore—“</p>
<p>“But you can’t do this!” she hissed. “After all, I’ve done for you these last couple of months…you-you can’t treat me like this.” Sharon’s eyes widened, tears shimmered in them as the corps de ballet trooped past.</p>
<p>Natasha gritted her teeth at Sharon’s dramatics. <em>Great, now the gossip mongers would go nuts about her mistreating a fellow dancer who’d also looked after her.</em> <em>Never mind dancing, Carter should have gone on the silver screen. She was a natural.</em></p>
<p>“Cut the tears. You were in it for the money and you damn well know it,” Natasha snapped, her patience giving out. She grabbed her arm and hauled her body into one of the empty dressing rooms.</p>
<p>“Now, you’re welcome to use the dance studio as long as you like, but you cannot live with me anymore. All I’m saying is you need to find another apartment,” she said as the door closed behind them, and gave them a modicum of privacy.</p>
<p>Sharon snatched her arm out of Natasha’s grip.</p>
<p>“ Fine. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can, don’t worry about that. Don’t want to be around you and your pervert of a boyfriend anyway.” She stormed past Natasha to the door.</p>
<p> Once there, she threw a look back over her shoulder, malevolence in her eyes.</p>
<p> “Just how long do you think you’ll keep him now that you’re fit and well? He obviously has a thing for cripples and helpless women. You’ll regret this Romanoff, I promise.” </p>
<p>Natasha jumped as the door slammed, the sheer hatred in Sharon’s eyes shocked her to the core. In a daze, she followed, closed the door with a gentle click behind her before she walked to her dressing room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You ok?” Steve’s deep voice greeted her as she stepped through the door. She nodded and turned to him, her heart skipped a beat. He was lounging on the couch at the back of her dressing room, legs spread. Impossibly handsome, irresistibly sexy. Irresistible for her, anyway. He seemed to have done a damn good job of resisting her. He had not touched her since that first night and it drove her out of her mind.</p>
<p>‘Just a run-in with Sharon. She was not happy when I broke the news. I think… You know I think she tried to threaten me.” she sighed. </p>
<p>Natasha headed behind the screen and changed out of her stage costume. She slipped on a fitted blouse and a knee-length skirt. Since she started on Steve’s treatments and returned to dance, she had regained her confidence in leaps and bounds. She was still a little self-conscious of the scars on her calves. She smoothed the thigh-high stockings over her legs, adjusted the deep lace at the top. Slightly thicker than normal, the opaque nylons covered her scars nicely.</p>
<p>“Threaten you in what way?” Steve asked.</p>
<p>“I’m not sure; it was weird.” Natasha laughed a little uneasily as she stepped from behind the screen and headed over to the mirror. Her hands moved automatically and started to remove the heavy make-up she wore on stage. There had been something about the look in Sharon’s eyes that bothered her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. Whatever it was, it made a shiver crawled up her spine, and worry settled at the base of her skull, hammered away like a woodpecker.</p>
<p>“She’s harmless,” Steve said.</p>
<p>Natasha flicked a glance at him over her shoulder. He watched her from the darkness; she could feel his eyes on her, wandering over her body. Her heart faltered again, then slammed against her breastbone as manic butterflies took up residence in the pit of her stomach.</p>
<p>“I'm almost done,” she said, swiping at her face with a lotion-loaded cotton ball until her skin was clear. Something to keep her hands busy. She dropped the dirty ball into the waste bin, glanced away from the mirror for a moment. Before she could take another breath, his hands clamped down on her shoulders.</p>
<p>“Steve.” She squeaked in shock, her gaze shot to his in the mirror. The dangerous expression on his face made her voice trail off. <em> How the hell had he moved so fast? </em></p>
<p>His thumbs stroked across the skin of her captive shoulders, skin that felt far more sensitive than a second ago. Her whole body came alive at his touch. Slowly, he bent down, his gaze never left hers as he pressed a kiss into the side of her neck.</p>
<p>A dark thrill shot through Natasha at the sudden change in his manner. Commanding, sure of himself. Dominant. There was something about Steve that said he knew exactly where the line was. And now he'd decided to cross it.</p>
<p>She bit her lip, still watched him as he straightened up. His hand slid up over her shoulder, across the top to curl around her neck. She suppressed a shiver as his fingers fanned out, tilting her chin up.</p>
<p>“Natasha, do you remember what I said the day after I gave you the first vial?” His voice was low, a mere whisper in her ear as he pulled her against him. Her back met the hard planes of his chest as his other hand spread over her stomach. He pulled her hips back against his, and let her feel the hard, swollen shaft of his erection pressed unto her. She gasped, heat spread like wildfire through her body. She had been worried he did not find her attractive, but the rigid erection against her ass said otherwise.</p>
<p>“Uh-huh. I think... I don't re—” She shook her head. It was impossible to think when he looked at her like that. As though she were a delectable morsel on a buffet that he wanted to sample—over and over again.</p>
<p>The warmth of his hand over her stomach burned through her clothes and made its way inward, through to her womb. Her hips jerked instinctively, pushed back against his hard cock. She stifled a moan. She needed more, needed to feel him thrusting inside her as he filled her completely.</p>
<p>“You don’t remember?” His lips quirked as Steve rotated his hips. His eyes darkened another notch, as though he'd heard her thoughts, felt her need as clearly as if she'd spoken out loud.</p>
<p>A flush covered her cheeks. Natasha rarely even admitted to herself what she wanted, what she truly craved, so how the hell was she supposed to tell someone else? It wasn’t the sort of request you could just drop into polite conversation, was it? That you wanted to be held down or tied up…wanted to give up control to someone else and be screwed insensible. Forced to live out your wildest fantasies.</p>
<p>His fingers moved on her throat. Strong, powerful fingers. How had she ever thought him weak, Held against him, she felt the strength in his body, the latent power? Something deep inside told her he could snap her like a twig if he wanted to. Far from scaring her, that knowledge burned through her veins straight to her loins. Her pussy clenched.</p>
<p>Steve’s eyes blazed in the mirror. “I said there would be a price, Natasha.”</p>
<p>Memory and realization jostled for space. <em>He had</em>, she remembered now. At the time, she had told him she would give anything, but she had assumed he wanted money. Not payment of a different kind.</p>
<p>“Uh-huh,” was all she could manage as he kissed her along the curve of her neck. He paused for a moment, ran his lips against her, back and forth over her skin. Not a kiss, not precisely. Almost as though he was—<em> was he smelling her? </em> A deep breath filled the chest behind her and he shivered, his eyes fluttered closed. When they snapped open again a second later, the blue was almost swallowed by the darkness. Something else looked out of Steve’s eyes. Something that both scared and thrilled her.</p>
<p>“You said anything,” Steve whispered. </p>
<p>“Uh-huh.” <em> Christ, couldn’t she say anything more intelligent? </em>Her senses and her responses had gone AWOL as he held her in front of the mirror. His hands were firm, it allowed no escape, not that she planned any.</p>
<p>Do you know what I want, Natasha?” His voice was temptation itself, beautiful and terrible at the same time.</p>
<p>“Wh-what do you want?” She groaned. <em> There. Finally, a response other than ‘uh-huh’. </em></p>
<p>“You said anything,” Steve murmured and slightly bit her ear.</p>
<p>He seemed to be waiting for a response, or an agreement. Natasha gave a mental shrug. What could she say? She had promised, had agreed to pay the price, whatever the cost. Apparently, the time had come to pay up.</p>
<p>
  <em> Bollocks, Natalia. Admit it; you’re hoping he wants sex. You want him to follow up on that sexy look, on that hard-on which you can feel. </em>
</p>
<p>“Yes.” she began to moan and held his gaze. </p>
<p>“ I want you, Natasha. That’s my anything.” Steve said. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Comments are welcome. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Natasha’s scent drifted up to Steve. He could smell her arousal mingled with her perfume and the softness of her skin was ambrosia. He was tempted to shove her skirt up around her waist and bury his cock in her pussy nearly got the better of him.</p><p>“God, you smell fantastic,” he murmured against her skin.</p><p>As she heard the words and saw the expression on his face that stared at her in the mirror, made Natasha pause. She wanted him; desire swirled in her veins until there was no room for anything else.</p><p>She swallowed, needed to play this game more than she needed her next breath. “Correct me if I’m wrong, you wanted sex? That’s you’re anything?”</p><p>He smiled a slow, sexy smile that stopped her heart in her chest. “Yes. But nothing you won’t agree to. Nothing painful or degrading, I promise." Steve held her hand in his. "Trust me, Natasha. You’ll be safe, I swear.”</p><p>“And if I refuse?” she asked.</p><p>Steve misread her hesitation, his face grew hard. “Your call, Natasha. I can leave tonight and you’ll never see me again...”</p><p> </p><p>He did not say the words but she knew what he meant. The treatments would stop. Her cheeks burned as she dropped her gaze. Her decision had been made the moment he kissed and entered her private box weeks ago. All she had waited for was the smallest sign that he might be interested in. His fingers stroked her throat, a reminder. Perhaps...</p><p>Her gaze lifted to his. Maybe, he would not be averse to her most secret desires. The strange need inside her that she had kept hidden. The need to be dominated held down and loved completely.</p><p>“Not averse at all,” he whispered, as though she had spoken aloud.</p><p>Or he had read her mind. She pushed the weird thought out of her head as he spoke again.</p><p>“I am going to kiss every part of your body. Touch, caress, lick you until you come, and then I’ll hold you down. Pin you under me as I take you. Love you until you come screaming my name.” He nipped her ear as the color rose in her cheeks.</p><p>Steve spun her around. The force of his blue eyes, the heat in them, burned her as he looked down at her. His hand fanned out and cupped her nape to hold her in place.</p><p>“Oh God, yes, please.” Natasha lifted her hands, curved them around his neck, and drew him down so she could kiss him.</p><p> </p><p>His lips took hers, warm and firm. Two feather-light brushes that made her mouth tingle. She arched against him, silently demanding more. He moved, his arms tightening around her as he gathered her closer and deepened the kiss. A harsh, passionate kiss as his tongue swept out to demand entrance.</p><p>Demand her surrender.</p><p>A surrender Natasha was happy to give. Her fingers curled into the short blonde hair at the nape of his neck as she yielded to him. Her knees turned to jelly as his tongue thrust into her mouth, twining along with hers, mimicking the possession she knew, hoped, and prayed, was to come.</p><p>Steve drove his hands into her hair, scattering the pins that held with abandon. With finesse, he deepened the kiss, held her head to plunder her lips as he pinned her against the dresser, her back against the mirror. Her blood hummed under her skin, so close he could almost taste it.</p><p>He growled, the beast inside too close to the surface to be totally denied.</p><p> </p><p>He broke away to kiss her jaw. One large hand smoothed along her leg, hooked behind the knee to hitch it over his hip. Natasha whimpered at the hardness of his groin, still confined by the fabric of his pants, pressed against her feminine core. He rolled his hips again, only a few layers of cloth between them stopped him from doing what they both wanted and thrust into her.</p><p>Natasha bit her lip, worry and arousal battled in her chest. Someone could walk in at any moment and catch them like this. Find them almost having sex up against her mirror. Despite the fact they were both clothed there was no question what was going on.</p><p>“I want you.” His lips explored the curve of her throat and found the spot under her ear that made her squirm. “I’m going to make you scream with pleasure as I fuck you.”</p><p>Her pussy ached with need. A moan escaped her as he pressed into her, the scent of musk and pure, and warm made her heady with desire.</p><p>Steve’s hands molded her body feverishly, he pulled at the hem of her skirt so he could smooth his palms over her thighs. His lips blazed a trail down her throat and Natasha dropped her head back to allow him better access.</p><p>He slid his hands along her thighs and hooked his fingers into the lace of her panties, pulled them down inch by inch. The lace reached mid-thigh and stopped. Natasha opened her eyes in confusion.</p><p>“I’m going to strip you and fuck your brains out.” He yanked on the panties again. A scrap of fabric slid to the floor. Locked in his embrace Natasha couldn’t look away from his heated gaze.</p><p>“Language, Monsieur Rogers!” She smirked.</p><p>“But first, I’m going to taste you.” He pulled her skirt up as he went down to his knees in front of her, urging her up onto the slight ledge in front of the mirror.</p><p>Hard hands supported her as he opened her thighs until her legs were spread wide. She moaned as her pussy was exposed, the cooler air in the dressing room whispered over the heated flesh.</p><p>“Perfect.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha did not get the time to reply to his comment before he leaned in, his tongue stabbed deep into her pussy without warning. She cried out as her body melted. She must be literally dripping by now, needed him to fuck her. Embarrassed at her body’s reaction, she tried to squirm away, convinced he could not find her pleasant. His hands clamped over her hips.</p><p>“No, Natalia, I’m not done with you yet,” he whispered, the hot puff of his breath against her clit almost drove her out of her mind. “I’ve not even started yet.”</p><p>His tongue slid along her folds from slit to clit, his fingers parted her wider. Natasha collapsed back against the cool mirror as his clever tongue danced over the sensitive nub of flesh. He circled and licked, flicked it with his tongue, and slid back down to thrust into her needy body until she was ready to scream. But he did not let her come. Every time she approached her release, he moved away from her clit. Deep rumbles of appreciation sounded in his chest as he dropped back to deliver long, slow strokes with his tongue, and let her calm down and drop away from the peak.</p><p>“Steve, please. I can’t take much more,” she muttered after the third or fourth time, her body pulled tighter than a violin string. She had lost track of everything apart from the need to come.</p><p>Without warning, he stood up, pulled her to her feet, and whirled her around. He bent her over, scattering her cosmetics to the floor.</p><p> </p><p>“You can and you will. My love.” He grabbed her wrists, pinned them above her head on the cool glass, holding them there with one hand. His chest pressed against her back. She squeaked in surprise at the sudden change.</p><p>“You wanted to be taken, Natalia. Owned. So that’s what you’re going to get,” Steve said and pressed his stiff cock hard against her ass.</p><p>“By the end of the night, I’ll have taken you every way possible and you’ll be begging me not to stop.” He taunted as he started to strip her. His hand reached around to the front of her shirt, curled into the neckline, and pulled. Buttons tore and popped, scattered over the carpeted floor. A chill rushed over her exposed skin and her breasts tightened in her black lace bra.</p><p>Her nipples peaked, pressed against the fabric, desperate for his touch. He did not keep her waiting long; his large hand cupped her, fondled her through the thin material. Whimpering, she arched her back to press harder into his hands, the words he was whispering in her ear sending fire racing through her veins.</p><p>“You’ll be begging for my cock in your tight little pussy.” Fireworks exploded behind her eyes as he rolled one hard nipple between his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>Steve’s hand moved down her body, and his fingers slid between the wet folds of her sex. He drove two fingers deep inside her and she moaned. Wet heat gushed around his fingers as she clamped down. She moved her hips, seek the release he kept denying her, but he was already sliding from her. His fingers blazed a damp trail across her hip and over her butt cheek.</p><p>“You will beg for me to take your pussy. You’ll even beg for me to take you here.” He shifted behind her, parted her ass cheeks to slide his fingers down the crease. She flinched as he teased the puckered rose of her ass, her eyes opened in shock as her body clenched even harder at the thought. She’d never done that before, never even thought of it. <em>What the hell is wrong with me?</em></p><p>Steve moved his hand away, fingers firm as he massaged her ass cheek. His breath was hot on her neck as he kissed the tender skin, nudged her head to one side to nibble at the sensitive spot under her ear. The one that always made her melt. Her eyes fluttered closed, her knees threatened to buckle, but he caught her.</p><p>“Oh no, my love, you stand there, exactly like that, until I tell you otherwise,” he said, a hard note in his voice. Soundlessly, she nodded. He lifted his hand from her wrists. She stayed still, her body trembled in anticipation.</p><p>“Good girl.” He murmured.</p><p>His hands skimmed down her arms and slid around her body. Slowly, he watched her in the mirror, he unclipped her bra. Her breasts sprang free. She was perfect. All the right curves. All for him. His breath escaped his lungs in a sigh as he cupped her breasts.</p><p>She bit her lip, forced her knees to lock despite the pleasure that flooded through her body. Her breasts tightened in his hands, and a soft cry escaped her lips. Pleasure arched through her as though an invisible line ran between her nipples and her aching pussy. A pussy she needed to be filled and the sooner the better. She shifted restlessly, ground her ass back onto his erection in silent encouragement.</p><p>In her distraction, she moved her hands slightly and his voice was like a whip. “Stand still.”</p><p>She thrust her ass back again, inviting his retaliation. Oh God, I hope he retaliates. She had never wanted a man to fuck her more in her whole life.</p><p>Natasha Romanoff was no innocent virgin. She had men lined up her feet, but nothing compared to this. With Steve, it was pure bliss. A connection that she cannot explain. A lifeline.</p><p>“That’s it; you asked for it.” He growled, he kicked her feet farther apart and opened her legs wide. One hand smoothed down over her stomach, headed south toward her pussy. She bit her already mangled lower lip as he parted her folds, running a finger along her slick flesh.</p><p>“You are wet, Natalia, you are a bad girl, aren’t you? All this is getting you hot, isn’t it?” Steve’s voice was a dark temptation in her ear and he lifted his hand, ran the wet tip along her lips. “See for yourself. Open your mouth, Natalia.”</p><p>Natasha hesitated then parted her lips, accepted his fingertips, and suckled them deeply. The earthy taste took her to a heated frenzy. She flicked her tongue over the end of his finger, teased him. Turnabout's fair play.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck. Natalia, you had tempted with my restraint,” he growled over the sound of rustling fabric behind her. She did not need to look in the mirror to know he was shedding his clothes as fast as he could.</p><p>The touch of Steve’s lips at the back of her thigh, just above the lace stocking top, took her by surprise. He caressed her other leg, his fingers gentle as he stroked upward.</p><p>“God, these are so sexy, your scars are sexy,” he murmured, kissing along the lace as his fingers crept higher. “Remind me to get you more of lace and stockings.”</p><p>Then his fingers reached their destination, sought out her clit, and circled it.</p><p>Natasha trembled. She locked her knees as he teased her with little nibbling kisses along the stocking top, teased her clit with little circling strokes of his fingers. Her eyes rolled back in her head as the pleasure mounted again. Perhaps this time, finally, Steve would let her come. She needed to come. It had become more necessary than breathing.</p><p>Then his fingers slid inside her again and Natasha nearly blacked out.</p><p>“Oh God…you’re a bad man. A very bad man, Rogers...” She managed in a shaky voice as he scissored his fingers inside her. Her hands slid down the glass until they rested on the dresser top. She could not think, could not talk, all that mattered was his fingers in her body, sliding in and out as he fucked her with them. Moving them apart, twisting them inside her as he stretched her and prepared her body for his possession.</p><p>Steve’s fingers slid from her and she moaned her frustration, but a moment later the blunt, swollen head of his cock replaced them. Desperate, Natasha pushed back, her breath catching as the tip started to penetrate her body. <em>Would it fit?</em></p><p>“Oh, it’ll fit alright, my love; you were made for this.” He chuckled. “Made to take my cock. Made to be fucked good and hard,” he told her, pushing forward as she accepted him.</p><p>“So, now you think you’re funny, Rogers.” She gasped as her body stretched, hovered on the edge of pleasure and pain as he worked himself deeper into her with tiny see-saw motions of his hips. Then he buried himself in her to the hilt, his hand on the back of her neck, holding and caressing her.</p><p>“Breathe, my love,” he murmured, his voice kind as he paused and waited for her body to adjust to him. Steve leaned over her, his larger body covered hers as his hand slid between her legs again. The instant he touched her clit she forgot all her discomfort as her denied climax built up again. He spread her juices over the tiny bud, circling and flicking it as he started to move. His hips set up a solid rhythm, and he fucked her hard as his fingers drove her over the edge.</p><p>In the pit of her stomach, the familiar tightness wound tighter, curled in and around on itself, formed a hard knot of pleasure. She opened her thighs more and pressed back against him to rock against his fingers, needing more sensation. Just a little more, to tip her into the abyss.</p><p>Then she was there, poised on the edge for a moment before sensation swept her away in a storm of white-hot pleasure. She cried out, thrust her hips back as her body clamped around his, her internal muscles milked his cock as her climax took over.</p><p>Steve gritted his teeth, as soon as he had slid inside her tight sheath, he felt as if he had come home. He shuddered, gently stroked his hand down her back. Despite all his crude words, he would not hurt her for the world. The trust she had placed in him had totally humbled him. As his own climax took him, he realized he would do just about anything for her. He buried his face in her dark red curls. Inhaled her scent. She was his soul. And He loved her.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Happy New Year Romanogers Fam! May this 2021 be kind and full of hope.<br/>Wishing you all good health.<br/>Stay safe as always. x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Natasha stretched in bed, reached out for Steve. But the side next to her was empty, the cold sheets told her he was long gone. The size of the bedroom probably had been the smallest out of the rest inside the mansion. The four-poster king-sized bed was in the middle of a square which took up quite a bit of space. Natural light came from tall windows that are covered with plum-colored curtains. A small wardrobe was tucked near the spacious en suite bathroom. A white bedside table with an antique lamp and a vase of red roses. It smelled of vanilla and pine because of the dried petals and wood shavings that sat on top of the porcelain plate of the antique dresser together with her earrings and personal trinkets.</p>
<p>Disappointment made her throat tight. She laid back on the expensive pearl-gray silk sheets, stared at the mirrored ceiling, and sighed; she had missed him again. She never managed to wake up in time. He was always gone before sunrise, headed down to his lab in the basement before she could entice him to spend an extra half hour or maybe even the morning in bed with her.</p>
<p>Natasha banished the sleep that still lingered. She had a long day ahead of her and thanks to a certain Mr. Rogers who kept her up all night with his kisses and a wickedly hot body, she had not gotten much sleep. She pulled herself up to a sitting position and took a moment to get herself oriented.</p>
<p>She needed coffee and her medication, in that order. Honestly, she had no clue how Steve did it. He kept her up most of the night but then was gone before she awoke. She knew he had spent all day locked down in his lab, but he would be fresh as a daisy by the time evening came.</p>
<p>Perhaps Steve caught a few winks down there during the day? He did not strike her as the napping kind but it seemed practical for high-powered execs to take power naps? Yeah, she did power naps, too. The eight-hours-a-night kind.</p>
<p>There was a faint knock on the bedroom door then it opened, and one of Steve’s soft-footed staff came in and carried a silver breakfast tray.</p>
<p>“Morning, Ma’am, how are you feeling this morning?”  A young girl with chestnut brown hair, big brown eyes in a Prince t-shirt that was twice her size, and cut off denim jeans, asked in a chirpy, bright voice. Her smile was warm with a hint of shyness.</p>
<p>Natasha stretched, her arms raised over her head. “I feel fantastic, thank you. Mary Jane isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Ma’am. Just coffee and toast again this morning?” The girl beamed, obviously pleased she remembered her name. It was not a hardship. she had no idea where Steve got his staff, but they had a polish that bespoke of good training and good breeding. She had remembered Mary Jane’s name because the girl was a delight, always eager to please.</p>
<p>But Mary Jane, like the rest of Steve’s staff, was extremely tight-lipped and seemed protective of her employer. Honorable, but a bit frustrating. All of Steve’s employees believed to think he walked on water. The butler, Abrahm had even gone as far as to refer to Steve as ‘his lordship’. The title seemed a bit over-dramatic, and she had had to stifle a giggle. She would not have been surprised to see an Igor-like creature that would shuffle around in the corridors and mumble about serving the ‘master’.</p>
<p>“Yes, please; just the coffee and toast.” she sat back as Mary Jane placed the tray on the small breakfast table across the bed.</p>
<p>As expected, a coffee mug sat on the tray. She’d managed to convince his governess, Aunt May, and the kitchen staff that a fancy, porcelain coffee cup just didn’t contain enough caffeine to render her human each day. That first morning, she’d had to ‘make do’ with the butler’s holiday-themed coffee mug, with its cheery, Santa’s. But by the next day, she had been given her own—no doubt very expensive—a white mug to match the rest of the crockery. Natasha missed the Santa’s; they’d been cute.</p>
<p>She drew a deep breath and savored the coffee’s rich aroma that circulated inside the room. Alongside the mug sat a small mountain of toast, half of which she knew she would not eat. She was not a morning person—coffee and one slice of burnt toast was her perfect breakfast. But alongside the toast was something else. Something she had come to rely on. Something she could not do without.</p>
<p>She got up, smiled as her feet touched the soft dark carpet, and walked to the breakfast table. Natasha picked up the small vial. Funny…to her, it still looked like blood.</p>
<p>As she took the vial, Mary Jane’s hands shook as she and the toast and mug slid toward the edge of the tray and acted without thought, Natasha reached out, covered the girl’s hands, and steadied the tray. A lapful of hot coffee was the last thing she wanted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Natasha already began the first part of the conversion. Slowly, so slowly he had not seen it until now. But each day she grew faster, stronger, and the scars on her legs were fading. Without his bite, though, the full conversion would take longer than her human lifespan.</p>
<p>Steve watched the scene from the dark corner of the room. He often lingered there, hidden in the half shadows, his body scattered to nothingness, as he watched Natasha woke. He was fortunate she was an early riser. Once the sun started to rise in earnest, he would be forced back under the earth to the sleeping chamber in the mansion’s expansive cellars.</p>
<p>He had not used the chamber in years. As an elder vampire, he was not crippled by the sun-paranoia of the newly converted that drove them beneath the earth to escape it. But with Natasha staying over and sleeping in his bed, he needed an alternative resting place. She still thought he was human; the possibility that he was not had never crossed her mind.</p>
<p>He watched as Mary Jane left the room, her gaze flickered toward the corner where he hid. All the staff was sensitive to his presence. They were not just servants, they were all seneschals, his eyes and ears in the day, his protectors should the need arise. They were all drawn from families who knew what he was and had served him for generations. And when necessary, they provided him with sustenance.</p>
<p>Pain flared through him. He loved her. Somewhere along the way he had done the unthinkable and fallen in love with a human. A human he had no intention of converting. He had damned himself enough already. He was not going to repeat the mistake with Natalia. Not when what he felt for her was a hundred times stronger than anything he had felt for his late wife.</p>
<p>Steve watched her pour the contents of the vial into the coffee mug and lifted it to her lips. A delicious shiver of pleasure shot through him as she drank. She closed her eyes in bliss, reacting to the taste of his blood. When he was still practicing medicine he had noted that some humans found the taste of vampire blood pleasant, even addictive. Those test subjects had always converted well.</p>
<p>He shook himself, disappeared from the room, and arrowed through the ether, and reappeared down in his sleeping chamber far below the earth. As soon as he was within its walls he lashed out, his fists connected with the heavy steel door, dented it in his rage.</p>
<p>It was over.</p>
<p>Tonight, as soon as the sun was down, he would have to leave. Before he lost control and pierced her skin with his teeth. Completed the process she had already begun by taking her blood within him to create an unbreakable bond between them.</p>
<p>One that would damn her forever.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the late update. I was caught on the Bridgerton wagon and plotted a Romanogers Regency au. It's probably a bad idea but I can't seem to help it. Want to check it out? Lol. Massive thank you. x Stay safe.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A battle within him. Steve can not even contemplate taking that talent away from the world. If he converted her—and he admitted that the temptation hovered on the edges of his brain—then he would be. But that ‘what if’ tormented him by offering visions of a future where he could have it all. Her presence in his life, her love for the rest of his days…or rather, his nights. If he converted her then she would belong to the night, her talent hidden from the rest of the world. And he knew without thought it would kill her; Natasha was born to perform, born to be on the stage.</p><p>Steve smiled in reply to something she said as he settled her into her chair. Tonight, they were guests of the ballet, viewing a special performance. His hand trailed over her shoulder, which earned him a smile as he took his own seat.</p><p>He did not leave like he planned. He could not. As soon as he looked at her, saw the anticipation and happiness in her eyes about their evening ahead, he couldn’t bring himself to end their affair. Not yet; he would wait until the night ended and then he would fade away with the dawn.</p><p>He watched her as the show started. Watched the interplay of emotions over her face, the concentration as she watched the dancers, the delight when one performed a move flawlessly. She had an astounding grasp and understanding of ballet. Steve had followed the art almost since it had become an art and he had never met a performer with the sheer knowledge and ability Natasha had. She had been well named, indeed.</p><p>Knowing he had to leave her at the end of the night, Steve lifted his hand and stroked a finger down her delicate cheekbone. He did not care where they were, he just wanted one last time with her, something to imprint on his memory for the long years ahead.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Natasha felt the touch and cast him a brief smile. She started to turn her attention back to the stage, but the look in his eyes stopped her dead. She had seen him hungry, passionate, filled with desire…but nothing pierced her heart as much as the look that he gave her now.</p><p>Full of longing, bittersweet need and something else swirled in his mercurial eyes. </p><p>They said the eyes are the windows to the soul. If they were, then there were things in Steve’s soul no sane woman would go near. But that was the thing about Natasha, She had always been one to venture where angels feared to tread.</p><p>His hand changed tack, slid to the nape of her neck. His signature move as he leaned in to press a kiss to her lips. Unlike his other kisses, which tended toward the dominant—demanding kisses that she could not help but respond to—this one was different. Almost as though he were requesting permission to carry on, asking whether she wanted this.</p><p> </p><p>The ballet forgotten, she turned in her seat, slid her arms around his neck as she kissed him back. The kiss got hot quickly, and their tongues danced in an age old rhythm that seemed as fresh as the new dawn. Without prompting, Natasha climbed into his lap, straddled his hips as his hands shaped her waist. She giggled as her skirts bunched around her thighs.</p><p>“Good thing it’s dark up here,” she whispered, her hands on his shoulders. She traced her fingers along the seam of his shirt, feeling the solid muscle underneath.</p><p>His palm skimmed up her thigh, playing with the lace at the edge of her stocking. She had worn thinner and thinner stockings as Steve’s serums had achieved the impossible. The scars on her legs were lightening, fading more and more, the longer she took the medication. When she had asked if it was normal, he just shrugged and said it was one of the possible side effects. It did not happen with everyone so she must be one of the lucky ones. </p><p>She wriggled in his lap, feeling wanton as she kissed him. Hot, open-mouthed and passionate kisses. Kisses that reminded her of how long it had been since they had last made love. Right at this moment, last night seemed a lifetime ago.</p><p>Her fantasy of making love in a box whilst everyone around them was unaware came back to tempt her, played over and over in her mind. She nibbled along his jaw, her eyes closed. A rumble of pleasure came from deep in the back of her throat as his hands smoothed up under her skirt. Just the touch of his skin against her bare legs, his fingers stroking up over her ass, bared by her thong underwear, was enough to set her off. The deep need she could not seem to control when he was around. </p><p>“Natasha...” He warned, he had trouble concentrating on the performance on stage with her hand in his lap. Especially when she started to play with his belt buckle. <em> She would not go down on him, not inside her box...is she? </em> His cock pulsed, desperate to feel her mouth on him again. He had blowjobs before, of course, but rarely, and none had ever seemed to enjoy it as much as Natasha did. That was the real turn on. The pleasure she took in giving him pleasure.</p><p>She pulled at his shirt, she tried to undo the buttons and kiss him at the same time. He laughed, stilling her hands.</p><p>“ Whoa there, Sweetheart. Patience…” he told her, reaching up lazily to undo the buttons along his shirt.</p><p>“Screw patience,” she whispered against his lips, desperate to get her hands on him. “ I want to screw you.”</p><p>He shuddered and his eyes closed for a moment. When they opened, the longing look was gone, replaced by pure heat. He smiled, opened the last button, the fabric of his shirt fell open and revealed his smooth chest and washboard stomach.</p><p>“So, pleased to see me, I take it?” She purred in his ear,and moved closer. </p><p>“You know I am,” he said as she kissed his jaw and along the side of his neck. Her hand whispered over his straining erection, stroking but not fulfilling. “You keep this up and you’re going to find out exactly how pleased I am to see you.”</p><p>“Oooh, tough talk. You man enough to back up your words?” She smirked. </p><p>“ If you want me, Natasha, take me.” Steve demanded. </p><p>She did not  need his soft order. She pushed his shirt over his shoulders and halfway down his arms. With a wicked grin, she left it there, the fabric pinned his arms in place. It was a trick he had pulled on her the other night, pinning her arms with her own top. Then he had spread her legs and used his delightfully talented tongue on her until she had screamed his name in pleasure, her climax so intense she nearly passed out. </p><p>“Natasha, love.” Her name came out sounded more like a warning. She grinned unrepentantly as she slid from his lap, her hands going for his belt buckle.</p><p>“Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?” She replied with a wink.</p><p>Her on her knees, mischief on those emerald eyes, flaming red hair cascaded on her exposed shoulders as she reached for his belt buckle and released his straining cock... Her small, pink tongue as it flicked out and swept over the sensitive head.</p><p>He smelled her arousal the instant her body softened. The sweet scent flooded the cramped space of the VIP box, driving him mad. His hands clenched on the cushioned velvet seat and placed a dent somewhere. Desire hit him broadside. His nostrils flared as he tried to get himself under control. He stifled a groan that came to his lips and tried to act normal.</p><p>“Harder.” His demand was a ragged whisper filled with dark need. Not until she complied with his request did he realize how dangerous a game they had begun. Just one proper bite and he would lose control. He buried his foot on the carpeted floor and gently grabbed her head and with all his strength thrust slowly into her red luscious lips. </p><p>“Holy shit,Natasha; you’ll be the death of me.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Steve’s mind still reeled as he slid behind the wheel and drove them home. <em>Home.</em> He almost smiled at the thought. He did not consider any place home for years. He moved around a lot, a new city every ten or so years, to stop people from noticing and realize he did not age. He even had to go through the elaborate charade and pretend he was his own son. He already had the paperwork in his safe for his next identity,</p>
<p>His lips quirked slightly as he twisted the key and the engine roared to life. Yet another change Natasha had wrought in him. Along with his indecisiveness. Normally, he made a decision and stuck to it. Normally, he would have already left. But Natasha kept throwing him curveballs, things like the little scene in the box earlier, and he stuck around like a bad penny.</p>
<p>Magic had happened tonight, clichéd as that sounded. When he had drawn Natasha into his lap he had intended to seduce her, took the fantasy on the surface of her mind and made it real. However, Natasha had other ideas. She had taken over and seduced him instead.</p>
<p>How wondrous, the belief that sometimes magic could happen. Could happen to a creature like him. Just like tonight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He pulled out into traffic, the powerful car responded to his every movement. Deep in thought, he focused on driving and getting them home safely. He was used to being the aggressor, the one in charge. So when Natasha had pinned his arms in the shirt, he had been surprised, then aroused. He began to get hard again at the memory. He planted his foot on the accelerator, desperate to get home and finish what they had started. Next to him, Natasha squeaked as he wove in and out of the traffic, drove at breakneck speed until they left the city lights behind them.</p>
<p>“Easy old man, or you’ll get us killed.” She mildly protested, one white-knuckled hand gripped her seat belt, her other hand grabbed for the door as he threw the car into another bend.</p>
<p>Steve quickly got out from his reverie. He could drive the car at top speed and it would still feel like a Sunday afternoon stroll to him. He slowed the car to a more reasonable speed, one that would not attract the attention of the local cops, and winced across at her.</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry,” he apologized. “I didn't mean to scare you. My mind was somewhere else. It won’t happen again. Is that better?”</p>
<p>She swallowed and nodded, and looked less green. “Much, thank you. What got into you? In a hurry to get back or something?” She gave a little, nervous laugh.</p>
<p>He looked at her, dropped his amiable mask and let her see the need and desire inside. Deliberately, he sent her a scene from earlier. She would not know where the image had come from. Thanks to their link, forged by her taking his blood, it was easier for him to slip in and out, inserting the image directly in her mind.</p>
<p>She on her knees reached for his belt buckle and released his straining cock in her small hands, her pink tongue as it flicked out and swept over the sensitive head.</p>
<p>He smelled her arousal the instant her body softened. The sweet scent flooded</p>
<p>the cramped confines of the car and drove him mad. His hands clenched on the steering wheel again. Desire hit him broadside. His nostrils flared as he tried to get himself under control. He stifled a groan that came to his lips and tried to act normal.</p>
<p>She rolled her head back against the headrest and looked at him. It was all Steve could do to keep the car on the road rather than pull over, throw the seat back and take her right there in the damn passenger seat. He flicked a glance at the back seat in the rearview mirror. Perhaps... No, he was not taking her in the bloody car like some hormone-driven teenager.</p>
<p>He kept his eyes on the road, felt her interested gaze on him. She reached out, smoothed her hand down his shoulder. He slid her a sideways glance and pretended he had no clue what was on her mind.</p>
<p>Distracted by her, Steve slowed the car down as a white van pulled onto the road ahead of them.</p>
<p>“Great,” he muttered, “Some people should really learn how to damn drive.”</p>
<p>“What the hell...”  He slammed his foot on the brakes to avoid a collision when the van in front pulled to a sudden stop. Eventually, some morons had decided to interfere with their stress-free evening.</p>
<p>All of a sudden, before he could even move a muscle, the door was wrenched open and a harsh voice said, “We can do this the easy way or the painful way. Personally, I prefer the second but it’s your call.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Neither had the time to react, Natasha and Steve had been dragged from the car. Steve had tried to fight but there had been too many of them and there was not much-arguing anyone could do against a crowbar. Natasha’s initial thought—that they were being car-jacked—faded into a fearful confusion when they had been tied up and bundled into the van.</p>
<p>Natasha flicked Steve a worried glance. Slumped next to her with his head back against the wall, he seemed barely conscious. They had hit him hard. A heavy purple bruise spread along with his temple on the other side of his face. She winced just to look at it. It had to be painful.</p>
<p>Steve groaned and opened his eyes, met Natasha’s worried gaze and he felt like a fraud. It took a hell of a blow to bruise a vampire. A blow like that would have crushed a human’s skull. Luckily, the thugs that had picked them up and brought them to this place—an abandoned warehouse, by the looks of it—were none too bright. At least the two were high on something; he could smell the chemical sweetness in their sweat.</p>
<p>Steve knew he could end it in around ten seconds flat. The ropes around his wrists would not hold the weakest youngling, not even a new convert, never mind a century-old vampire. But despite that fact, he could shred them like paper, something far stronger held him captive.</p>
<p>Fear.</p>
<p>Natasha would know what he was, or at least she’d know what he was not. He smiled at her, a weak smile to go along with his play-acting. She was so worried about him; concerned and something else had shone in her eyes. Something he did not want to recognize, but he did, the emotions at the forefront of her mind.</p>
<p>Love. She loved him.</p>
<p>“Are you ok?” she whispered, casting a nervous glance about to see if any of the goons were close by. Steve had caught the way they looked at her, the way the biggest of them looked at her, in particular, and his rage simmered.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I think so.” He added a groan and he blinked, faked the effects of a concussion.</p>
<p>Guilt twisted in his gut like a knife. She was worried about him. And he was lying to her about who he was. What he was. But he could not do a damn thing about it. Once she knew he was a monster, her love would die. She would run. Leave. Just like his wife before.</p>
<p>“Shut it you two.” The smallest of the thugs, a wimpy looking guy, snarled from his perch on some crates nearby.</p>
<p>“I still say we should do the girl.”</p>
<p>A large man lurched in front of them, glared down at Natasha with undisguised lust in his eyes. Steve felt sick at the images that went through the thug’s mind. The fantasies that ran through the guy’s head made Steve’s blood freeze in his veins.</p>
<p>Steve’s lip curled, just the tiniest hint of a snarl as he locked eyes with the thug.</p>
<p>“Don’t even think about it,” Steve warned. He was tied up against a wall. To all intents and purposes, there was no way he should have issued threats.</p>
<p>The man stared at Steve for a moment then his eyes widened in fear. He relaxed a little against his bonds. No matter how good a vampire was at concealment, humans were smart. The instincts that had dragged them out of the caves, although dulled by civilization, were still sharp enough to recognize death when it looked them in the face.</p>
<p>The large man swallowed, his gaze flicked from Steve to Natasha and back again.</p>
<p>“You can ‘do’ what you like with her when I’m done. Not before.” The voice came from the shadows.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm truly sorry for the late update.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Natasha’s head snapped up in recognition. She knew that voice. Or she thought she did. Usually, it was a whining, complaining voice directing snide comments at her. At that moment, it was filled with hatred and purpose.</p>
<p>“Sharon?”</p>
<p>Her evil laugh filled the cavernous room as the thugs stepped out of the way. Her heels rapped against the concrete as she walked across to stand over Natasha, Her features twisted and ugly.</p>
<p>“Surprised to see me?” She taunted.</p>
<p>Natasha struggled to breathe as she realized the truth. Sharon was behind it. She had organized for her and Steve to be kidnapped. They could have been killed. Steve nearly had.</p>
<p>“Why?” Natasha asked. She knew Sharon Carter did not like her, but she thought things went a little too far. “Why would you do something like this?”</p>
<p>Sharon laughed a bitter sound that echoed around the large room. The sound fell flat but she did not seem to notice, amusement was in her eyes as she looked at Natasha.</p>
<p>“Oh, come on, you can’t be that bloody dense! You’ve been the bane of my existence from the moment you walked into your mother’s studio. So pretty, so delicate. So fucking perfect.” She spat. “I thought I’d dealt with you but you even screwed that up for me. Do you have any clue how expensive it is to arrange a car accident these days?”</p>
<p>Natasha went pale. Her car accident. The terrible, tragic accident that stole her life, her dancing—at least until Steve came along—was not an accident at all.</p>
<p>Natasha’s face screwed up as she snarled. “I go to all that expense and plan to get you out of the way and you bloody survive.” She sighed heavily then grinned. “But that was cool; I could live with that if you couldn’t dance. Knowing I took away the one thing that meant more than life itself to you gave me pleasure.”</p>
<p>She leaned down, her breath hot against Natasha’s face.</p>
<p>“But you couldn’t even stay the pathetic cripple, could you? You had to go and recover somehow. Then you fucking sack me. Me. Who are you to sack me?” she asked, her eyes wild, the rage in them visible for the world to see.</p>
<p>Natasha could not stop looking at her. Sharon was always perfectly made up, she fretted and checked at her makeup to make sure it was perfect, so the tiny slip made things seem worse. Sharon would never allow such a slip, not without being out of her mind with rage, anyway.</p>
<p>Her eyes gleamed with malevolence. “This time it’ll be different. Last time, I let you live. But not this time. Oh, no. This time the job gets done right and you’ll be out of my hair for good.” She straightened up and looked around at the thugs who had brought them here.</p>
<p>“Have your fun, and then kill them both. Dump the bodies as we discussed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Silence blanketed the warehouse after Sharon walked out. Shocked into silence by the sheer lack of expression in her last statement, Natasha sat and stared at her retreating back. Sharon might have well said ‘take the trash out when you’re done.' It chilled Natasha to the bone. But not as much as the slow grin that spread over the faces of the thugs as they looked at her.</p>
<p>A cold shiver of dread wormed its way up her spine. Without a doubt, she knew they were not getting out of there alive.</p>
<p>She lifted her head and located the leader of the little thug gang. She looked him straight in the eye and tried to find something humane in there. Something decent. It was a struggle but there was a flicker. She carried on, hoped there was something she could reach.</p>
<p>“Please,” she said, “he doesn’t have anything to do with this. You can let him go; you don’t have to kill him. He can walk away and you never need to see him again.”</p>
<p>Steve froze as he listened to Natasha pleading. She begged for his life. His life, not her own. Time slowed, shrank to the one moment where Steve and his guilt overwhelmed him. He could stop this, save her, but fear crawled up his spine and held him immobile.</p>
<p>Regardless of what happened, he would survive. Unless they dragged him out into the sun or chopped his head off. They could not do anything that would not heal and he did not plan on making it that easy for them. He was in no danger but she begged for his life.</p>
<p>Steve shifted beside her, agony in his face. “I’m sorry, love,” he whispered, “I’m sorry it had to come to this...”</p>
<p>Natasha shook her head. A sad smile curved her lips as she looked at him, she memorized every line of his face. She had her memories; whatever they did to her she would try to escape to them. Go to a happier place, to escape what was about to happen to her.</p>
<p>“It’s not your fault,” she told him. “This was nothing to do with you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all. I’m sorry you had to be involved.”</p>
<p>Steve felt a sharp crack in the middle of his chest. His heart, an organ he had thought long dead, broke in two. He had no choice and he knew it. Either way, he looked at it, he will lose Natasha. If he did nothing, his secret was safe. She will be dead, but he will live—a long, dismal life without the other half of his soul. But if he will have saved them, if he revealed what he was, she will run from him, in fear.</p>
<p>But she will live.</p>
<p>He sighed as he looked up, his decision made. He would die, of course. Oh, not at the hands of these thugs but the instant Natasha looked at him with terror in her eyes his life would be over. He would seek the dawn at the next sunrise.</p>
<p>“Forgive me,” he whispered and stood.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WARNING. Before you proceed, please be advised it's going to be a bit gruesome.<br/>Please Please Please skip this chapter if violence and blood is not your cup of tea and may cause a trigger.<br/>Steve is a vampire. So, he's not going to be forgiving.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Natasha frowned at his words, not quite sure why he apologized. It was not his fault unless she had slipped into some weird alternate reality and he was in league with Sharon. But if he was, then he was not likely to be tied up with her.  <em>So, why did he need her forgiveness?</em> If one had to ask for forgiveness it would be her she thought. She dragged him into this situation. Sharon Carter was insane. No normal person would kill someone...twice. The whole scenario was laughable as a hot prickle of tears started to ran down her cheeks.</p>
<p>She felt a stab of pain in her legs as she struggled to get up on her feet. The gang of thugs had pulled their weapons. Guns, knives, sticks—and Steve was tied, unarmed. They would kill him. “Steve, no.”</p>
<p>Steve looked over his shoulder, with his shirt untucked and dirt stains all over, there was sadness in his eyes. Sorrow, fear and longing all mixed into one. But not for himself. For her. Natasha bit her lip, her tears welled over and silently flowed down her cheeks. He was going to die protecting her and there was nothing she could do about it.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, my love,” he said again and turned back to the gang of thugs that closed in on them, bloodlust shone in their eyes.</p>
<p>In a matter of seconds, everything went into full chaos.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Natasha watched in stunned silence as Steve ripped the ropes from his wrists. The tattered remains down on his feet, shredded. Natasha’s mouth dropped open at the casual display of strength. He had not even broken a sweat, and his pale wrists were unmarked from even the slightest rope burn. <em>How had he done that? Impossible.</em></p>
<p>“What the—?”</p>
<p>Any thought he had worked on his bonds with a hidden nail file or something was blown out of the water as he rounded on the men with a feral snarl. He dropped to a defensive crouch, kept himself between Natasha and the thugs.</p>
<p>She gasped, her eyes widened. The sound, the way he moved…like something out of a film. One of those sci-fi or horror films with special effects. He moved, slid to the side as one of them tried to creep around to get to her. He glided as if he were boneless.</p>
<p>Steve reached out negligently, caught one of the thugs, the big one in particular, who had threatened her. he made it so easy as though, he dealt with a defiant child, he pulled the man into his arms, whirled him to face Natasha.</p>
<p>Steve extended his right hand. The man tried to bat the hand away, but it was immovable. All of a sudden his nails ripped across his throat. Again, his fingernails were clotted with flesh. It had been decades since he went on a real hunt. He smelled fear in his prey.  The man tried to run by him, but he lunged and grabbed the back of his head, squeezed the lower part of his skull until he brought him to his knees.</p>
<p>“How’s that for a fantasy? Pop any arteries?”  Steve snarled.</p>
<p>The man’s face was red. His breath came in pants, but he tried to speak. The only sound he made was a faint cry. Steve slammed his face to the ground and bit into the back of his skull, cracked his bone to reach the brain. His tongue darted into the folds, lapped out a small portion of the brain. The man’s body shivered in his arms.</p>
<p>“No one threatens my woman and gets away with it.”  Steve rolled the man onto his back and peered into his eyes and allowed his head to slide from his hands and hit the ground.</p>
<p>Natasha brought her bound hands to her throat. For a split second, Steve looked directly into her face, into her emerald eyes. His face creased in pain for a moment before it smoothed out. His beautiful blue eyes now a shade of blood. The beautiful and blank face of a dark angel. she sucked in her breath, she knew that what happened next would change her life forever.</p>
<p>He seemed to not want to look at her, his gaze fixed to a spot just above her right shoulder. Then he leaned down, his eyes closed as his hands were bloodied and tightened on the man who had struggled for his life under his grip.</p>
<p>Natasha watched as he launched himself again at his attackers. No human moved that way. Shrieks of terror echoed around the warehouse. but there was no escape from the whirlwind Steve had become. He ducked and wove between the thugs, avoided their weapons with ease. His low laughter underscored their shrieks, a symphony of death, as though he was mocking them. And he did.</p>
<p>Steve bared his teeth.</p>
<p>Bared his...fangs.</p>
<p>“Oh. My.God!” Natasha had seen enough vampire films and knew what she was looking at. The impossible. Vampires did not…could not exist. Even as she thought it, things started to click into place. His absences during the day. He wasn’t dedicated to his work; he had been avoiding the damn sun.</p>
<p>Steve bit down. His fangs sliced through the skin of his next victim’s throat like a knife through hot butter. The human jerked and twitched as Natasha watched in stunned silence. Steve did not open his eyes as he drank. She could almost hear the muscles of his throat worked as he swallowed.</p>
<p>A moment later, he released the man and the corpse slid to the floor, like a puppet with its strings cut. Steve looked up at her, flinched as he almost met her eyes, as though he was afraid to look at her. He looked away at the last minute. Then he moved again and the rest of their captors did not stand a chance.</p>
<p>Natasha looked away from the carnage. She curled into a ball against the wall, as Steve tore through their abductors. Literally. Strangled screams of pain were followed by wet splashes and dull thuds as bodies hit the floor. She tried to keep her gaze averted, tried to make sense of what was happening around her.</p>
<p>Blood sprayed up the wall next to her, a hot, wet, vivid scarlet spray. It slid down onto the floor next to her in heavy drops. Drip…drip…drip. Like a leaky faucet. She never imagined gentle and kind Steve would engage in such violence. The catastrophic incident was brought about by a situation that is beyond her control. in order to save her. Grimly, she clung to that thought, ignored the fact that not ten feet away her lover tore people apart with his bare hands.</p>
<p>Was she going to be next?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Steve had lived centuries but he had never been frightened. He sat, crouched in front of the woman he loved—the human woman he loved who had found out he was a blood-sucking fiend from beyond the grave.</p>
<p>After everything was done, an eerie silence fell over the warehouse. Only two sets of breathing. Natasha’s and Steve’s. his was not even labored; she suspected he did not need to breathe, that he was only breathing as part of his human disguise.</p>
<p>“People tend to notice if I don’t,” he murmured.</p>
<p>Natasha flinched as he spoke, his voice far closer than she expected. His feet came into her field of vision, expensive Italian leather shoes. A speck of blood marred his toe. Natasha could not help but stare. He had ruined his shoes; that stain would never come out.</p>
<p>“Your shoes,” she whispered.</p>
<p>“What?” His voice held confusion as he squatted beside her, his knees came into view. Natasha felt rather than heard him move. He extended his hand toward her and she flinched, she expected him to grab her at any moment, sink his teeth into her neck and kill her.</p>
<p>“Natasha, please, I wouldn’t do that.” His voice was agonized, as though he could see the image in her head. Startled, she looked up, directly into his blazing blue eyes. “You can read my mind.” Not a question, but a statement. Another realization when things made more sense.</p>
<p>Steve nodded, his hand falling away. “Just the surface thoughts; I don’t go any deeper.”</p>
<p>“God, no wonder you were so perfect. You knew exactly what I wanted because you could see it in my mind.” Natasha let out an exasperated sigh.</p>
<p>Natasha slammed her head back against the wall, irritation and embarrassment surged through her. No wonder he had been able to seduce her so easily, being able to get around her normal reserve. She had wondered at that. Wondered what it was about him that allowed him to judge her responses and know when to push and when to back off. He had been reading her damn mind.</p>
<p>The little part of her mind that was prone to hysteria yammered that there was a vampire crouched not three feet away but she ignored it. If Steve wanted to kill her, there wasn’t anything she could do to stop him.</p>
<p>“Please, Natasha, look at me. Despite what you’re thinking, I’m not going to hurt you. I-I love you.”</p>
<p>She would not look at him as he untied her and her flinch cut him to the bone. If he had been capable of bleeding, he had bled out onto the floor there and then. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way. Believe me; I didn’t want it to end like this.”</p>
<p>He risked a glance back at her to find her looking at him, her green eyes confused.</p>
<p>“What did you just say?” she glared at him.</p>
<p>“I said I didn’t want it to end this way.” He rose to his feet; he did not bother to conceal the fluid grace in his movements anymore. A small smile touched his lips. She’d have made a wonderful vampire, so beautiful and elegant. Pain raked through his chest like someone had dumped a bucket of hot coals onto his dead skin. It hurt to even look at her.</p>
<p>He stood and turned to go. Dawn would be here soon; he had to just go and wait for it. That way he would not have to move once the sorrow that yawned like a chasm in his chest claimed him. He started to walk away, his footsteps measured. Deadman walking. He finally knew how that felt.</p>
<p>“Steve, stop. I didn’t mean that part,” she called after him.</p>
<p>There was a scuffling behind him but he did not turn around, just stopped and turned his head to indicate he was listening.</p>
<p>“What did you say before that?” she asked softly.</p>
<p>“What? That I love you? Pathetic, isn’t it? The hunter in love with his prey. You can scream now; I won’t hold it against you.” he said.</p>
<p>Why would I scream?” she asked.</p>
<p>Her small hand touched his shoulder, surprising him. He had not heard her move. With his blood in her, she was vampire silent. “If you’d wanted to kill me, wanted to drink my blood, you’ve had plenty of opportunity before now. But you haven’t. I figure I’m probably safe.” she said.</p>
<p>Steve laughed, the harsh sound reverberated around the empty space. “Oh sweetheart, you’re far from safe with me.”</p>
<p>“I don’t believe you.” He shook his head.</p>
<p>“Why today? Why today of all days are you being so damn stubborn?” he asked, every line of his body rigid with tension. All he wanted to do was haul her into his arms and kiss her senseless, claim her as his own. Bury his fangs in the soft skin of her neck and wash away the taste of the thug’s blood with the sweet ambrosia he knew that flowed through her veins. Hold her close to him as she drank directly from him, not from a vial.</p>
<p>“Coward,” she taunted softly. “Face me and tell me you’ll hurt me. Look me in the eye before you bite me.”</p>
<p>“Natasha, I want very much to bite you. I want to lay you down and make love to you; I want to feel you tight around me as I slide my fangs into your throat. I want to feel you come as I drink from you. Then I want you to ride me, and do the same to me. Drink from me.” He drew in a shuddering breath at the thought. “I want you to drink from me, not by a vial anymore.”</p>
<p>Natasha’s breath caught, surprise evident on her face. “The herbs. They weren’t herbs at all, were they? Am I a vampire? Bride of darkness or something?” she sounds surprised and curious.</p>
<p>Steve chuckled, but desire clouded Natasha’s eyes as she lifted her hand and smoothed a gentle finger over his lip. He caught it as she pushed the lip back to get a look at his fangs, curiosity and wonder written on her face.</p>
<p>“Careful, just one cut is enough.” He warned her. “No, you’re not a vampire yet. You’ve taken my blood, which is the first part of the conversion. For you to be fully turned I have to take yours.” Another shudder racked his body, his cock pulsing in the confines of his pants.</p>
<p>Then Steve’s control snapped. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he rounded on her. His hand lashed out and caught in her hair, wrapped the flame-red curls around his hand as he dragged her flush against his hard body. He yanked her head back, his lips hovering over the creamy flesh of her throat as he crouched over her.</p>
<p>“And now, my love?” he asked and ground his pelvis against hers. He was rock hard, just the thought of sinking fang had him rigid. Ready to fuck her. Fuck and suck, the preferred method of lovemaking for a vampire.</p>
<p>“Sure I won’t hurt you now?”</p>
<p>Her small hands were on his shoulders but to Steve’s surprise, they did not push him away. Instead she…stroked him. She ran her palms over the muscles of his upper arms and shoulders as if she could not get enough of him. She could not look at him, not with the way he had her hair wrapped in his fist, the way he held her body rigidly. Her back was as taut as a bow between his hands. It would not take much to snap her spine; human bones were so fragile.</p>
<p>He released the pressure on her hair bit by bit, kept his hand in the silken curls but eased up so she could look at him. Her eyes were dark as they met his, her hands still soft and relaxed on his chest. She smiled a soft, mysterious, and feminine smile that did things to Steve on a primal level. Natasha, the eternal mystery. She was in his clutches, a vampire she just saw ripped five men apart and she was smiling.</p>
<p>“I’m sure. You won’t hurt me; you won’t bite me,” she said.</p>
<p>She was scared; he could see that, sense that. But behind it all was the unshakeable belief that he would not hurt her. She trusted him. Humbled, he closed his mouth and his fangs receded to little more than points. The urged to bite her, just a little nip, a tiny taste, still remained, but he was in control.</p>
<p>“You want to.” Natasha guessed the truth. Everything had taken on a somewhat surreal quality. She stood there in a vampire’s arms, blood marred the walls around them and they calmly discussed how much he wanted her to drink his blood. Steve thought, <em>should not that be the other way around, him bending her over and muttering ‘I want to suck your blood?</em></p>
<p>Steve bit his lip, the sharp fang pushed down on the full flesh. He looked down at her with a combination of need and longing, the fine tremble in his body pure evidence of his iron control.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I want to. I want you, Natasha, forever.” his voice a caressed. “Always.”</p>
<p> Natasha nodded. She looked deeply into his eyes so he could read and see her</p>
<p>decision. “Then do it; bite me,” she said, and tilted her head to the side and bared her neck.</p>
<p>“Love, you don’t know what you’re saying. If I do this, you’ll become like me—a creature of the night. You’ll be giving up everything. Your dancing. Everything.” he said as he held hands and pleaded.</p>
<p>“I can still dance. We’ll find a way, Steve. I want to be with you. Always. Please. Do it.”  she looked deeply into his eyes and said.</p>
<p>Steve shuddered and closed his eyes as she offered him everything he had ever wanted. All the arguments about why he shouldn’t have swirled in his brain and disappeared under one startling truth. She knew he was a vampire and she was not bothered. There was no fear in her eyes…apprehension, yes, but not fear. And she did not look at him as though he was a monster.</p>
<p>As he smiled, the wounds on his soul disappeared. He leaned down and licked her neck. A quick brush of his tongue against her silken skin over the pulsing vein. He pulled back with regret and looked around. “Not here, though, you deserve better.”</p>
<p>He bent down and the next second she was in his arms, cradled against his chest as he strode out from the place of carnage and death. “I’m going to take you home. Then make you mine. Forever.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After three years...</p>
<p>Moskovskiy Victory park was dark, it was May when people flocked to celebrate and mourn. For some peculiar reason, some of the lamps that usually lit the path were put out. Probably, vandals, Sharon thought to herself, she gathered her coat closer around her slender frame. She had grown skinnier over the course of the last few years. Since she had tried and failed to kill the famous prima ballerina for a second time. Since she had been forced to go into hiding.</p>
<p><em>Bloody Romanoff. How had she done it again?</em> The woman had more lives than a fucking cat. And the thugs she had hired. Bloody useless.</p>
<p>In the darkness, she narrowed her eyes as hate consumed her again. She would manage it, one day. She just had to get herself settled again, make some money, and then she would try again. She would try harder next time, plan better. Get better people for the job.</p>
<p>“Hello, Sharon.”</p>
<p>Sharon whirled at the voice. A low, sultry, vaguely familiar voice. There was no one. behind her. She shook her head. she must be hearing things, or maybe it had been the wind in the trees. Then a figure stepped from the shadows. No, a figure formed out of the shadows.</p>
<p>“What the f—?” She backpedaled, her eyes wide, not sure of what she saw.</p>
<p>The woman stepped into the light, illuminated her familiar features. Red hair, petite and agile. She smiled, but her teeth were wrong. Too sharp at the corners. “Let’s play a game, Sharon...”</p>
<p>Sharon Carter screamed. As a flock of ravens settled upon the trees and seemed to know they would soon have a feast. Sharon Carter screamed. It was the last sound she ever made.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>From the bottomless pit of my heart, Thank you. Thank you for giving this story a chance. Thank you for sticking around. Appreciate all your comments. I'm going back to my other WIP's and hopefully, I get to finish them all this year. Hopefully. Lol.<br/>Keep safe everyone. x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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